


Fractured Mind

by Mireborn



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Battle of Wakanda (Avengers: Infinity War), Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Canon Compliant, Gen, Healing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Major Character Injury, Medical Experimentation, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not A Fix-It, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Torture, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Quote: Wakanda forever (Marvel), Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Wakanda (Marvel), Wakandan Technology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-01-22 19:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18534409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireborn/pseuds/Mireborn
Summary: “And what if I don’t wanna fight anymore? What if I’ve shed enough blood for two lifetimes?” The words are out before Bucky has even finished thinking them, but he can feel the weight of them, feel their truth. This is why I’m so tired… I want the fight to end. “I can’t be on your six anymore Stevie. Once this mess is sorted I’m done. I’m sorry.”Steve staggers backwards like Bucky’s words are a punch to his gut. He finds a seat and slumps into it, his shoulders hunched with the weight of Bucky’s truth. His mouth opens and closes without uttering a word and Bucky feels like a heel for causing him this pain. He knows it’s the last thing Steve expected to hear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains some heavy themes as it deals with the aftermath of Bucky’s time as the fist of Hydra. He has friends and a support network, but he doesn't always lean on them or listen to them when he does. Some of this work may be triggering for readers so proceed with caution and take note of the tags.

_“Please… no… Please don’t…”_

_The mission’s gasping pleas mean nothing to the soldier. He tightens his chokehold about her throat, the servers in his arm recalibrating constantly as the life in her brown eyes fades. His face impassive he lowers her body to the ground and bends to check for her pulse with the gloved fingers of his flesh hand._  
_No life signs. Mission complete. Return to handlers._

_The soldier straightens, his movements economical and silent as he makes his way through the dark house to the back door. While passing through the kitchen the sound of stumbling footsteps reaches his ears._

_Small. Light. Half asleep._

_In confusion he halts. His mission only specified the single target. His eyes flick towards the back door and he dismisses the notion immediately. The footsteps are too close to the kitchen. The porch light too bright through the stained glass panels on the door. He will be seen leaving. He must not be seen. That detail was very specific._

_“Mama?”_

_The child is small. Rubbing at one eye they stare in bewilderment at the soldier veiled in shadows by the counter. Not yet old enough to know they should be afraid of a strange man in their home they take a step further into the kitchen._

_“Where’s mama?”_

_The servers in the metal arm whir once more as the soldier crushes the throat of the flailing child in his grasp._

_No witnesses. Do not be seen._

_Two hours later the soldier sits submissively as his handlers remove the silicone copies of the fingerprints of another man from his metal hand. He barely blinks as they work, answering their questions mechanically, complying with them strapping him to the chair for his debrief. Electricity rips through his body, his involuntary screams hurt his ears._  
_The memory of the small, blue eyed child is erased…_

* * *

 

Bucky wakes with a scream that dissolves into a choking cough. Falling to his knees in the dark he feels grass beneath his hand as he retches and heaves out his horror and despair.

_Not again, dammit. Not again._

As the spasms of his mind and body recede he becomes aware of pain in his right hand and flinches as he tries to curl his fingers into a fist.

_More broken bones. Fuckin fantastic._

As if it isn’t bad enough that his worst memories persist in returning as nightmares while he sleeps, his body betrays him further with the sleepwalking.

_Where the hell am I? Please tell me I didn’t hurt anyone else again?_

It is deep night in rural Wakanda, the dark all encompassing, but Bucky’s night vision is better than the average man. Squinting slightly he waits for his vision to adjust then scans his surroundings. The shadowy form of his hut is visible, several hundred feet to his right down the slope, the occasional bleat of one of his penned goats reaching his ears. To his immediate left is a large natural rock formation which projects out of the side of the hill like a termites nest. To Bucky’s relief he is alone.

_Thank fuck. I musta whaled on that rock formation. Better that than…_

Shaking his head to dispel that dangerous thought he cradles his broken hand close to his chest, pushes to his feet and returns to his hut. There is a special lantern inside the hut that Shuri made for him after the first time he broke his hand, rendering him virtually armless for around twenty four hours as the bones knitted. Of course she had tried to convince him to let her make him another bionic left arm first. Bucky’s nose wrinkles at the memory of that conversation. It hadn’t been pretty, largely due to the rage that had exploded out of him at the mere thought of submitting to another metal arm.

The special lantern hangs at head height. Without thinking about it Bucky spins on his left heel and kicks the button on the front with his right. A soft, golden hued light fills the simple hut, revealing his meagre possessions. The covers from his pallet bed are a tangled and wadded mess on the floor, his pillow soaked with the same sweat that makes his scalp itch beneath the clumped and dishevelled weight of his hair. His kimoyo beads glitter in the lamplight, scattered about the floor like marbles, the sight pulling a wobbly exhalation from his lungs.

* * *

  _“You’ll be needing these.”_

_Bucky’s brow creases in confusion as Shuri fastens a bracelet of glass beads about his wrist. “I’m not a jewellery kinda guy,” he falters, not wanting to offend the Wakandan princess after all she has done for him. Removing the triggers from his brain is no small thing. He owes her and he always will. To his relief Shuri laughs at his ignorance._

_“White boys…” she scoffs in amusement, her dark eyes dancing. “They are kimoyo beads. Let me show you.”_

_The teenager sits beside him and taps one of the beads. It glows beneath her finger. “This is the prime bead. It contains all of your medical and health information.” She taps the bead to the left of the prime bead and a holographic screen springs to life between them. “This is the AV bead. Use this to access our internet.” Next she taps the bead to the right of the prime. “Here we have the communication bead. This functions like a western smartphone. As you don’t speak Wakandan I made sure to alter the programming so these beads respond to English. The others are merely decorative, but can be altered to different purposes if required.”_

_“I hope I don’t break them,” Bucky mumbles, turning his wrist from side to side. “How do I use them with one hand?”_

_“You won’t break them.” Shuri sounds confident of this but Bucky can’t help the sceptical arch of his brow. “Bast!” she exclaims, rolling her eyes. “You white boys have such egos. Do you imagine you are the strongest man in Wakanda? T’Challa has a set of these beads and he has yet to break them. Do you imagine yourself to be stronger than the Black Panther?”_

_Bucky decides not to dwell on that question. His memories of being chased through the streets of Bucharest by her brother are still vivid. T’Challa is not a man he wishes to tangle with again if he can help it, especially as the man has seemingly taken him in and given him a home that he isn’t sure he deserves._

_“Tch.” Shuri shakes her head at his awkward silence. “Let me show you how to activate them…”_

* * *

  _Focus, dammit! Focus…_

Giving himself a stern mental shake Bucky crosses to the other side of the hut, stepping carefully over the scattered beads. With a resigned huff he squats in front of his locked first aid cabinet. Shuri delivered this to him, fully stocked, after his first sleepwalking incident. Bucky’s lips twist in pain as he presses the pad of his index finger to the fingerprint scanner on the door. There is a beep and the door swings open on a silent hinge. The first thing he sees is the shelf of medications he refuses to take. The sleeping tablets and antidepressants are an almost accusatory presence and he scowls at them before sitting and using his toes to pull the much used hand splint from the bottom shelf. He considers the specially formulated painkillers for a brief moment before shaking his head and kicking the cabinet door closed.

A few minutes later he lays on his bed, staring at the communication bead he’s holding between the index and middle fingers of his splinted hand. The rest of the beads are gathered in a small pile next to him on the dirt floor. None of the individual beads appear to be broken but they are no longer a bracelet and Bucky has no idea how to return them to their former state. His hand flares with pain as he twists his wrist sharply in the beads activation sequence. The bead between his fingers glows softly, a musical chime accompanying the light. A quiet hum reaches his ears and Bucky opens his mouth to speak, closing it again after a second.

_Don’t be an idiot. You call him you know what’ll happen. He’ll come here and then what? You know what he’ll hope – you know he’ll struggle to keep his promise. You also know you won’t refuse him. You’ve never been able to refuse him. And it’s not what you want anymore. You know it’s not. You have a chance here… To build something good… Maybe… Fuck!_

With a growl of frustration Bucky deactivates the bead and sets it gently with the others. Then he folds his arm over his chest and stares blankly up at the thatched roof of his hut until the early dawn light pierces through his cloth door come morning.

 


	2. Chapter 2

There is only a sliver of the dawn sun peeking over the horizon when Bucky arrives at the lakeside. The huts of the nearby Border Tribe village remain still and dark as he strips out of his linen tunic and pants and steps into the cool water. As he wades out to the deeper water he's careful not to let his eyes drift down to the metal plates melded to the left side of his ribcage - part of his hated legacy from Hydra. Bucky has no mirrors in his hut for specifically this reason. He's not, in any way, ashamed of his flesh body. Once upon a time he’d been happy to flaunt it to any willing dame and he’d never been embarrassed to be seen nude by any of the Howlies. He’d been proud of his physique. But now… Now the sight of those metal plates makes him want to tear his body apart.

* * *

_The headache screaming through his brain makes him wince. With a low groan Bucky opens his eyes, only to close them abruptly in the harsh lights overhead._

_“Sorry.”_

_The voice is Shuri’s and he hears her tapping some buttons behind his head. “I’ve dimmed the lights. You should be able to open your eyes comfortably now.”_

_Trusting her words Bucky tries again. The lighting in the lab is much more comfortable but his headache is still pounding like he has the mother of all hangovers._

_“Zhelaniye…”_

_Bucky’s eyes widen involuntarily at the word Shuri has uttered._

_“Rzhavyy… Semnadtsat…”_

_Bucky panics. “No. Shuri… Please… Don’t.” I’m not even strapped down to this table, what is she thinking?_

_Shuri glares once at him and continues her recitation. “Rassvet… Pech’… Devyat’… Dobroserdechnyy…”_

_Bucky stills with a sudden realisation. His mind is still his own, such as it is. Normally by this stage his conscious thought has been pulled into a murky black soup. Has she done it? A painful hope fills his heart as Shuri completes the list of trigger words._

_“Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu… Odin… Gruzovoy vagon.”_

_There is a moment where Shuri and Bucky simply stare warily at each other in the dimly lit lab, then Bucky bursts into tears._

_“Oh my God…” he manages between the sobs. “You really did it. Oh my God…”_

_“I’ll give you some time alone,” Shuri offers, giving his right shoulder a comforting squeeze before exiting the lab on quiet feet._

_I’m finally free of Hydra. Oh my god… I’m free. They have no control over me now. Bucky scrubs a hand over his face, swiping at the tears which refuse to stop falling. With a huffing exhalation he swings up to a sitting position and wipes his hand beneath his nose. No more Hydra… Jesus Christ…_

_The tears taper off in a swelling of gratitude for the young Wakandan princess. He will never be able to repay her kindness and skill. She has saved his life, given him another chance. She has done what no one else could. She is incred-_

_The thought is never completed. He’s frozen at the sight of his reflection in the mirror to his left. Bucky’s hope and pleasure die in that moment as he stares at his bare chest. His trembling hand crosses his body, his fingers jolting away from the mass of scar tissue melding with the metal plating._

_Hydra… Hydra… Fuckin Hydra!_

_The world goes white, then red. Bucky’s fingers find a groove in the plating and he wrenches at it with a wild scream. There is pain, so sharp that he almost blacks out, then Shuri is back at his side her face creased in alarm. Her mouth is moving but he doesn’t hear her. He tugs again and feels blood, hot and warm over his fingers. There is a stinging pinch in his neck. The world goes black..._

* * *

 

Bucky ducks his head under the soothing water of the lake but it isn’t enough to dispel the darkness of that memory. He’d been a mess. Shuri had removed the trigger words and he’d repaid her efforts by trying to tear his body apart. Once again the teenager had fixed the damage and Bucky had been careful ever since not to give her more unnecessary work. This is why he bathes alone, before anyone from the village stirs, and is vigilant about covering his left side while in public. He doesn’t need questions or looks. He doesn’t need to be encouraged to look himself.

Pushing off from the lakebed Bucky ducks his head and kicks his legs like a dolphin, swimming across the lake until the breath he's holding burns in his lungs. When he can't take the pain any longer he raises his head and gasps in the fresh Wakandan air. The dawning sun is bright in his eyes so he turns his back and relishes in the warmth across his shoulders and scalp as he treads water. He can already tell it's going to be a blistering hot day and this is one of the things he loves about life in Wakanda. The heat is as far removed from the ice and snow of Siberia as he can get. Back in Brooklyn, before the war, Bucky and Steve had complained about heatwaves during summer. He will never complain about the heat again. Steve probably feels the same, all things considered.

His eyes closed, Bucky floats on his back and basks in the rays of the rising sun. He almost purrs in comfort as the temperature of the water increases around him. This. This right here. This is peace. He's almost sure of it. The corners of his lips quirk in a small smile and he exhales slowly feeling the weight of his troubles drift away in the water. Dawn is Bucky’s bliss. It has no expectations, wants nothing of him, doesn’t judge and asks no questions.

Another soft exhalation and Bucky slowly moves his arm to run his fingers through his hair. His hand is no longer acutely painful in the splint, but there is an ache when he gently tugs at the knots in his hair. The sky above is midnight dark, lightening to the radiant blue of day when Bucky opens his eyes. Deciding to give up on detangling until the next day he gives his shoulder length tresses a few lazy shakes under the water to wash them. Satisfied with his ablutions he returns to treading water and blinks when he sees the woman standing on the bank where he’s left his clothes.

For a month now, whenever Bucky decides to descend the hill from his hut and swim, the woman appears. She pauses on the bank and watches him for a few minutes, sets her woven basket at her feet, then turns to where he’s discarded his clothes in a careless pile and folds them neatly. Once this task is done to her satisfaction she fixes her gaze on Bucky for a few more minutes then takes a gift for him from her basket and sets it atop his folded clothes. Sometimes it's bread, sometimes a spicy stew or cake, sometimes it's a sweet but spicy drink that Bucky suspects is alcoholic but has little effect on him when he drinks it. Other times her gift is be more elaborate; a woven leather belt, a hand sewn tunic, a bone handled knife with what he instinctively knows is a vibranium blade. Having arranged her gift, the woman spares him another searching look then returns to the village.

Bucky has no idea what all this means but he instinctively knows that refusing her gifts would be a great insult, so he keeps them. In fact, the tunic she will fold for him today is one of her earlier gifts. Her behaviour is a mystery to Bucky. She comes, she leaves her gift, and she never says a word. Bucky is sure she has never smiled either, but then, he doesn’t do a lot of smiling himself he supposes. He could ask Shuri what this strange ritual means but for reasons he doesn’t wish to examine too closely he chooses to keep his silence.

As the woman folds his tunic and trousers Bucky lets his eyes trail over her as though her appearance will provide some answers to her behaviour. His mystery woman is tall. Almost as tall as himself. Her black hair is cropped close to her skull, as many of the women in this village wear theirs. Contrasting with her dusky, dark skin her dress is a vibrant red with a golden pattern about the edges. It brushes against the ground as she moves and the long sash tied about her waist is patterned in purple and gold. Bucky has learned over time that this style of dress is called a gomesi. She is a statuesque beauty. If he’d encountered such a stunning woman before the war his old self would have done his best to charm her right out of her gomesi. But now… Well… Everything is different. Bucky is no longer that carefree young man. He doubts he will ever be carefree again.

 _Jesus Christ! Stop being so fuckin precious. It’s going to be a stunning day. Just let yourself enjoy it._  

With an impatient huff at himself Bucky starts to lazily kick his way back to the shore. As his feet touch bottom again he notices the woman has deviated from her month long ritual. Usually she would be gone by now, but she is still standing by his clothes, her woven basket held tightly against her chest as she watches him approach. Bucky halts, water swirling about his shoulders as he wonders what to do. He’s seen enough of the village swimming together in this lake to know they don’t have the same sort of hang-ups about communal nudity as the western world. That being said, he isn’t eager to cross any lines. He isn’t Wakandan, after all. He is a guest and a “white boy” to boot. Who knows what kind of offence he’d be committing if this woman sees his naked white body. There is also the matter of his half metal chest. The less people who see the ugly Hydra bits of him the better.

“Um…” Bucky drops his eyes from the interest on the woman’s face and his mouth twists. “I don’t want to be rude here, but are you gonna go? You usually go.”

Silence followed his words and Bucky winced internally. _Jackass. She probably doesn’t even understand you._

“I will stay, White Wolf.”

Bucky’s head snaps back up in shock. Her English is lightly accented, her voice gentle.

White Wolf. From the time he arrived the members of the Border Tribe have called him that. Often they are the only two words he understands. Many of the tribe speak English, but not all of them. He’s even overheard Shuri referring to him as the White Wolf. When he’d asked her what it meant, why they call him that, she waved a hand in dismissal and changed the subject.

“Call me Bucky,” he tries and the woman’s lips curve in a smile.

“I am Bohlale.”

Not knowing what to say now Bucky scratches the top of his head and shifts uneasily in the water. Bohlale looks towards the village then back. “Do you not want to get out? The village will be rising soon.”

“I would,” Bucky begins uneasily. “But I’m not wearing anything.”

Bohlale’s dark eyes met his and Bucky swallows hard at the empathy he sees there. _How does she know? How could she possibly know?_

“I will turn my back,” she says decisively and does so, her skirt swishing against the dirt as she turns.

Sinking his teeth into his lower lip Bucky hesitates for a handful of seconds before coming to a decision. _I can hardly stay in this fuckin lake all day. The goats will get pissy if I don’t feed them on time_. He quickly wades to shore, shakes off as much of the water as he can, then pulls on his trousers. He's struggling to pull his linen tunic over his wet hair when he feels a gentle touch to the left of his spine. Bucky freezes on the spot, his breathing shallow as her fingers find the place where flesh meets metal in a ridge of scarring. Swallowing back the sour taste on his tongue he yanks the tunic down and twists away from her intrusion. The need to vomit is strong but he pushes it down and tries to focus on his breathing instead.

 _Stay in control… Stay in control… Fuck!_ Bucky wants to scream, to punch, and to hurt. _Fucking Hydra!_ The anger, the rage that is always boiling beneath the surface threatens to spill free. Sinking to his knees he throws up in the dirt, gaging and choking on bitterness and regret. _Stay in control… Stay in-_

“I understand.”

Bohlale’s words almost snap the leash on his temper. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic he sits down and glares up at her, his teeth gritted. He knows the dangerous glint in his eyes would give even Steve pause, but Bohlale seems to be immune. She regards him with sad, dark eyes, her basket still clutched close, but she doesn’t back away from his silent challenge. 

“I do understand. I will show you.”

Setting her basket down Bohlale lifts the hem of her gomesi and Bucky’s rage cools at the sight. From mid-thigh down her right leg is bionic, the metal glinting in the sunlight as he stares. Where metal meets flesh there is far less scarring, but the sight is no less jarring. Bucky blinks as the hem of the gomesi once more falls to the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” he husks and Bohlale gives him a tight smile.

“I understand,” she repeats softly, then retrieves her basket and sets off towards the village without another word.

 _Fuck! Jesus Christ…_ Bucky’s anger has stolen his energy when it fled. Instead of standing he shuffles on his knees to the small, fabric wrapped parcel he dislodged into the dirt when he grabbed his pants. Sitting back on his heels he slips the loose knot and carefully unrolls the little bundle. A hand carved comb falls onto his thighs along with a small leather wrapped clip he assumes is for tying back his hair. Swallowing hard Bucky runs his fingers along the surface of the comb, feeling each dip and rise where a knife has dug into the wood. Did she carve this with her own hands? He suspects she did. It's roughly done and he doubts it would be found for sale at any market stall. _Fuck the broken hand…_ Bucky uses his teeth to pull the splint from his hand so he can close his grip about the comb properly. It's such a simple gift and he knows he will use it and treasure it.

After ten minutes of grimacing and fumbling Bucky’s hair is free of knots and fastened messily at the nape of his neck in Bohlale’s clip. It's then he properly notices the fabric the gift was wrapped in. His brow wrinkling in a frown he shakes the piece of linen out fully and discovers it's just the right size to use as a bed sheet. It's hand dyed and the pattern causes his breath to catch in his throat. It's two landscapes captured in dye. One half of the sheet is dark mountains in a snowstorm, the other half a grassy plain lit by a warm red sun overhead. Staring straight out of the dual landscape, straddling both the dark and the light is a white wolf. His fangs are bared in a snarl, his ears back and head dipped as if to charge straight at Bucky. His left front leg, the one firmly planted in Wakanda, is a shining silver, its edges glowing in the sunlight. Heaving in a ragged breath Bucky wrangles his hand back into its splint, gathers the linen and comb to his chest, and runs through the slowly stirring village, back up the hill to his home.

 


	3. Chapter 3

If Bucky had known goats were such assholes he would have tried to find a way to serve the village that didn’t involve wrangling the little shits every day. When he’d agreed to be the village goatherd Shuri had asked him if he knew anything about the care of goats. Stupidly, he had nodded in the face of her obvious scepticism, thinking how hard could it possibly be to look after a dozen medium sized, innocent looking mammals? At least now he knows why the handful of curious children he’d seen laughing behind their hands at the time were so amused.

_Motherfucker... How’d he get up there? This is why I should never let them out of the goddamn pen..._

The _he_ is one of the goat kids, a few months old, who has somehow managed to climb to the top of a marula tree. It’s bleating like crazy as it balances precariously between two spindly looking branches at the very top of the tree.

_I didn’t even know goats could climb trees until I came here. Though, to be fair, I knew fuck all about goats before, let alone about their suicidal climbing tendencies._

Exhaling his irritation in a noisy rush Bucky casts aside his splint and tests his ability to make a fist. There’s nothing for it. He’s going to have to go up there and rescue the pain in his ass. _It’s a matter of pride_ , he tries to tell himself. It has nothing at all to do with the fact that he might be slightly attached to the bleating holy terror. After flexing his fingers several times he determines that his bones have knitted enough for him to make this climb. Yes, it will hurt a little bit, but the mild ache is nothing. He will still be fully healed in a couple of hours assuming he doesn’t fall out of this tree on his ass.

A badly muffled chorus of childish giggles erupts behind him as Bucky jumps into the low fork of the main trunk of the tree. The giggles become full laughter as he grabs a branch overhead, then swings to and fro, building momentum to catapult himself up to the next one. Bucky glares the children into silence as he swings, fully aware of how he probably resembles a one-armed monkey with his antics. Then he shakes his head as they scatter, fake squealing, back towards the village.

 _Let’s get this over with before they return_ , he thinks, sweating slightly as he propels himself ever closer to the top branches. _The last thing I need is to be distracted by their not so helpful suggestions as I do this._ Bucky learned early on not to listen to the dubious help of the village children. His dignity has yet to recover fully from the shock of walking into a hut of menstruating women when he’d asked them for directions to the hut of the village elder. As Bucky fled, his face redder than a tomato, the gang of little fuckers had rolled about in the dust laughing so hard their cheeks were streaked with tears.

The late afternoon sun beats down through the branches as Bucky straddles the last sturdy looking branch he can see and stares up at the goat kid balancing on its twigs above him. The goat kid stares back at him in silent defiance, the lack of its constant bleating a relief, though Bucky isn’t sure he likes the look in its eyes. That’s a look of unadulterated mischief if he’s ever seen one.

“I swear, if I fall outta this tree ‘cause of you I’m christening you Steve Rogers. Right… How to do this…” Bucky pulls his knees up to his chest and sets his bare feet against the rough bark of the tree branch. Carefully, he rocks forward until his weight is over his feet, then slowly pushes up to standing with his arm out for balance. Once upright he takes a few minutes to get used to the sway of the branch beneath him in the afternoon breeze, then looks up once more to assess the distance between himself and his quarry. Sure of his footing now Bucky takes a handful of steps along the length of the branch and reaches up for the goat kid. His fingers stroke its silky ears as he murmurs soothing phrases and lets the goat kid chew painlessly on his thumb. Edging closer Bucky curls his palm under the belly of the kid… a loud and explosive series of curses escaping him as the animal leaps lightly over his head and descends the tree far faster than Bucky had climbed it.

His mood is not improved in the slightest by the chorus of laughter that accompanies the goat kid reaching the ground safely. It bounds towards the pen as he glares hotly after it from his gently swaying perch. Trust the village children to return at just the right time to catch his failed rescue attempt. The little fuckers probably knew all along that this would be the outcome.

* * *

_“Steven Grant Rogers, you come down from there at once!”_

_Shocked by the panicked bellow Steve’s mom has produced Bucky almost drops his slice of buttered bread in the grass. Sarah Rogers has never sounded like that, ever. His mom, sure, but she has him and his three sisters to deal with and everyone knows they are a handful. Bucky hadn’t even known Sarah was capable of such volume._

_“I mean it, young man. Don’t you dare pretend you can’t hear me? Come down at once, I said!”_

_Bucky turns about and his heart nearly stops in his chest. Steve is at the top of the nearest pine tree in the park, which also happens to be the tallest. His lean face is filled with delight as the breeze ruffles his yellow hair and sets the top of the tree swaying. Bucky doesn’t even think. He sets his bread and butter down in the picnic basket and flies over the grass, kicking off his Sunday best shoes as he goes. He’s already several feet up the tree by the time his own mother is aware of his actions._

_“James Buchanan Barnes! What do you think you’re doing?”_

_A hardened mobster would cower when Winifred Barnes uses that tone and Bucky winces, feeling guilty as the baby starts to cry, but he doesn’t stop climbing. Better to get a whipping later for his disobedience than watch his best friend fall to his death without doing something to save him. Now his younger sisters are yelling too, but he tunes all that out in favour of focusing on his hand and footholds. Hafta get to Stevie. Can’t let him fall._

_“What the hell, Stevie?” Bucky pants upon reaching the branch below his friend. “Ya Ma is having kittens.”_

_The joy fades from Steve’s face as he looks first at his friend, startled by his arrival, then to both of their families far below. His brow wrinkles into a frown and he rests it against the branch he is clinging to without answering. Bucky lets the silence grow between them, climbing onto the branch opposite and straddling it, swinging his feet as he gets his breath back._

_“You don’t know what it’s like to be sick all the time. People think m’weak. But m’not. I climbed all the way up here and didn’t have no asthma attack.” Steve raises his head and glares at Bucky. “I’m fine. You don’t gotta rescue me all the time.”_

_“Steve…” Bucky doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. He feels guilty but he can’t seem to stop the worry unfolding in his chest whenever Steve gets into a fight or goes out in the cold without his jacket or does something equally stupid and reckless. “M’sorry, Stevie.”_

_“It was nice up here but you ruined it.” With that complaint Steve grasps the branch beneath him in shaking fists and swings down to the next one. “Leave me alone, Buck.”_

_Bucky watches as Steve scrambles down the tree. Heaving in a sigh he follows slowly, knowing Steve won’t stay mad at him for long, even as his guilt for intruding on Steve’s moment of fun grows. He has no idea why he’s wired like this. Why the thought of Steve dying scares him so badly that he’s so driven to protect him, shield him even._

_A muffled cough reaches his ears and Bucky twitches in alarm, glancing down and seeing Steve glaring back up at him, daring him to speak as he tries and fails to muffle another cough._

_Shit!_

_Steve is stubborn so he climbs down another few branches before clinging to the trunk of the pine, coughing and wheezing against the rough bark. He looks up again and Bucky is spurred into action by the fear he sees in those blue eyes._

_“Hang on, Stevie.” Bucky swings down the branches between them, careless of the splinters he collects in his rush to reach his friend. Steve’s lips are tinged blue, his face bright red as he struggles to get air in his lungs. “I’m here, Stevie… I’m here.” The noises Steve is making are horrible. Bucky grabs one of his limp hands and presses it to his own chest, then cups his remaining hand against Steve’s sweaty cheek, turning his face to meet his eyes. “Breathe with me, Stevie. C’mon… Breathe with me. Slow now.”_

_The minutes crawl by as Bucky forces himself to remain calm and breathe slowly. Steve’s eyes are half closed and his fingers grip Bucky’s shirt weakly as he tries to match his inhales and exhales to Bucky’s. The rest of the world fades as Bucky counts each ragged breath his friend draws, each cough, each wheeze, each choke. This is a bad attack but Steve is a fighter and Bucky won’t let him forget that. Breathe, Stevie, just breathe… The fingers at his chest tighten in his shirt. C’mon… Breathe…_

_“Buck?”_

_The word is faint and a cough follows. Breathe, Stevie…_

_“Buck? My wrist?”_

_With a mental gasp of relief Bucky lets go of Steve’s wrist and blinks at the bruising starting to appear there. “Shit! Sorry, Stevie.”_

_“S’all right.” Steve physically withdraws, pulling the cuff of his shirt down to hide the marks blooming at his wrist. “Thanks.” Not waiting for a response he begins his descent of the tree again and Bucky watches him go._

_His heart heavy in his chest Bucky grips the trunk of the tree and thunks his forehead against it once, then twice. Steve had tried to sound grateful but Bucky knows his friend too well to miss the resentment there. Steve hates needing help. Hates that his frail health holds him back. He especially hates needing to lean on Bucky. And Bucky hates not knowing how to help Steve come to terms with all of that._

_“Ya coming, jerk?”_

_Steve’s voice drifts up through the thick pine needles and Bucky allows himself a small smile. “Yeah, m’coming.”_

_The cracking snap of the breaking branch reaches Bucky seconds before he falls. Steve’s eyes fix up on him in alarm, before Bucky twists past him grasping for any handhold he can find. There is a sharp pain in his head, then darkness…_

* * *

Bucky sways unsteadily at the top of the marula tree, caught between the past and present for a few dangerous seconds. Flinging out his hand he grasps hold of the first branch his fingers touch. The third anchor point grounds him in the now and he quickly works his way out of the tree. Once he feels the dirt beneath his feet he collapses onto his ass and leans back against the base of the marula.

_I broke my arm that day. Gave myself concussion… Ma bawled me out for following Steve into trouble. Told me he’d be the death of me one day… Jesus. I was so angry with her for saying that…_

“White Wolf?”

The little girl stands awkwardly in front of him, her ankles crossed, her hands tucked behind her back. Bucky blinks at her by way of answer, not sure he’s capable of words yet.

“Can we feed goats?”

She looks so hopeful that Bucky doesn’t have the heart to turn her away. He forces his brain into gear and pushes himself to his feet. “Sure, kid. Your friends can even help.” With a squeal of delight she runs towards the small shed near the pen, gesturing for the rest of the children to follow her. 

A half smile gracing his careworn features Bucky retrieves his splint from the dirt, shoves it in a pocket, and hurries after them. If he leaves them alone in the shed too long they’ll make a huge mess he doesn’t feel like cleaning up today. Their high, excited voices reach him, along with the sound of something clattering to the floor. Bucky winces. That sounded like his water urn. The sudden silence from within the shed confirms his suspicion before he steps inside. The children stare up at him guiltily as he takes in the broken shards of fired clay with a look of resignation. One of the little imps flings her arms about his right leg, her brown eyes bright in her dark skinned face, as she hugs him.

“Sorry, White Wolf.”

“It’s alright, kid. It was an accident.” Bucky’s hand finds its way to the top of her head, his fingers running through her short tight curls. “I’ll give you some goat milk to trade for another one.”

The little girl nods eagerly and before long she’s running back towards the village, a small urn of goat milk clutched tight in her little fists – enough for a new water urn and for a small treat for her trouble.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we see Shuri and the relationship Bucky has built with her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been over this chapter multiple times and can't find a place to split it into two chapters, so this is a long one.
> 
> Warning that this chapter contains period typical homophobic slurs. Also contains discussion of torture and/or medical experiments.

Thanks to Bucky’s enhanced hearing, the sound of the palace hovercraft reaches his ears before it comes into sight over the crest of a hill. Bucky pauses in his writing and stares at the craft as it approaches his hut. While his attention is diverted, one of the goats takes the opportunity to nibble at the journal resting on his knees. A page tears away and Bucky combines a swat at the nose of the offending animal with a grab at the flapping paper. After a short tug of war the goat bleats in triumph and trots away leaving a crumpled, half-eaten page in his hand.

“Goddamn!” With a huffing exhalation Bucky flattens the torn page against his open journal and assesses the damage. His slanted writing covers both sides of the page, the top half missing, the edges wet with goat slobber. “I’m gonna skin you and offer you as a feast for the village,” he yells after the unapologetic beast. It stares back at him from a safe distance away, chewing deliberately.

The hovercraft comes to a halt by the goat pen. The sound of Shuri’s laughter precedes her as she leaps lightly to the ground and jogs over to where Bucky is seated on the grass with his back resting against the warm clay wall of his hut. A warrior of the Dora Milaje follows more sedately, stopping about fifteen feet away to stand at attention. The warrior’s eyes constantly alternate between scanning their surroundings and fixing upon him with obvious suspicion and distaste. Bucky doesn’t let this offend him. Instead he finds it a wise precaution. The trigger words may have been removed, but he still can’t fully trust his own mind.

“Did we just catch you yelling threats at a goat?” Shuri’s eyes are dancing with her good humour as she takes a seat by his side. Bucky feels his lips pull up in an instinctive grin as he closes his journal, setting it by his side with the pen placed on top.

“You’d threaten them too if they chewed holes in your paperwork.” Drawing his right knee up, Bucky sets his bent elbow against it and rests his chin in the palm of his hand as he takes in the view before them. His hut is on open ground, but further down the slope there’s a thick tree line which serves as a symbolic barrier between himself and the village by the lakeside. The village isn’t visible where they sit but the sparkling waters of the lake are. Bucky can see some of the children and their parents splashing in the hot midday sun.

“You should join them,” Shuri says softly and Bucky gets to his feet quickly, vanishing back into his hut before she can see the anger that has turned his face into a cold mask. Knowing she won’t follow him into his home without invitation he concentrates on slowing his breathing.

_She’s only trying to help. She’s a kid. Yeah, she’s smart… but she has no real concept of my life and who I am. She’s never been experimented on, tortured, brainwashed… unmade and twisted beyond recognition… She’s never seen me kill… She doesn’t know I could kill anyone stupid enough to let their guard down around me as easily as breathing… Nor do I want her to know. Get it together, Buck!_

A few more slow breaths and Bucky feels calm enough to reengage. Sticking his head out of the hut he finds Shuri still seated on the grass, only now she has a lap full of goat kid and is petting its ears. Her long hair is in dreadlocks that flick over the front of her shoulder when she turns to smile up at him and pass him his journal.

“Best to put this someplace safe,” she suggests, tilting her head towards the goat who offended earlier. “I’d hate to visit next week and see that one on a spit over a bonfire.”

“Hmm…” Bucky taps the book against his thigh, spotting the laughter she’s trying to hide behind her smile, and decides not to mention that the goat kid is licking at the ends of her dreads. She will find out soon enough when it begins to chew. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”

“No.”

“I’ll rustle something up.”

After tucking his journal and pen safely under his bed Bucky lifts the lid of the wooden chest he uses as a pantry. Pulling out a fresh loaf of bread and two tomatoes he hears Shuri yelp in indignation and shoo the goat kid from her lap. Suppressing the desire to laugh at the princess Bucky tucks two knives in his belt, balances the bread and tomatoes on his wooden chopping board, and carries them outside. Shuri is scowling as she plucks at the soggy ends of her dreadlock.

“I blame this on you,” she mutters, giving him side-eye his ma would have been proud of. “You’re teaching them bad habits. Don’t think I can’t see the chewed ends of your hair.”

Bucky doesn’t even try to deny her accusation as he sets the chopping board and its contents between them on the ground. “I think it’s cute,” he admits, his eyes softening as he passes one of the knives to Shuri. “My baby sister used to chew on Ma’s hair when she let it down each night. Ma never minded. She’d shake it so it tickled Sally’s cheeks and made her giggle…” Not wanting to get lost in the memory Bucky swallows hard and shakes his head. His hand is trembling and he curls it into a tight fist to make it stop. Tipping his head in the direction of the Dora Milaje he changes the subject. “Should I offer her some food?”

Dark eyes full of sympathy, Shuri shakes her head in the negative. “She will eat when she is off duty.” Reaching over the food she takes his fist in her hand and squeezes. “How long have you had that memory?”

“Since the first time one of the goat kids chewed my hair.” Bucky pulls his hand free and scrubs it over his face. “I remembered a handful of truths when Steve brought me here, but since you removed Hydra’s trigger words from my head…” He halts and turns away from the concerned scrutiny of the teenager. _I can’t tell her this. I can’t hurt her after everything she’s done for me._

“Go on.” Shuri encourages, setting a warm hand on his right shoulder with another squeeze. “Removing those trigger words was one of the most complex procedures I’ve ever completed. I need to know everything you can tell me about any potential side effects.”

There is sense in her words, but Bucky struggles to reconcile her youth and relatively lacking life experience with the practicality of speaking. Silence falls between them for a time as Bucky gathers his courage and Shuri patiently waits.

“The few memories I had before Steve brought me here were hard won; pieced together from visiting the Smithsonian exhibit about Steve and random internet searches. The more information I took in, the longer I stayed out of cryo-freeze… cracks began to appear in Hydra’s mind wipes. Flashes of memory would rise from the darkness. I was able to piece things together slowly. I was in control. I learned what I wanted to. Regained memories I wanted to have. I felt I was striking a blow at them by defying their programing. It was largely my choice.”

The lake is empty now, a breeze sending ripples scudding across the surface. _I wish I was floating there. Letting the ripples carry me where they will…_ Bucky closes his eyes and leans against the wall of the hut, the back of his head thudding against the surface. He hears Shuri shift beside him and braces for the touch he expects. Her fingers close over his again and Bucky sighs.

“Since you removed the trigger words… It’s been like trying to outrun an avalanche. Memories come back to me whether I want them to or not. I don’t will them. I have no control at all. It’s never consistent. Memories of my life before Hydra wash over me at random times during the day. All the horrible things I’ve done in Hydra’s name… they come as graphic nightmares at night when I least expect them. I fight them in my sleep – the sleepwalking – I hurt myself… I hurt others-”

“That was an accident,” Shuri interrupts. “No-one blames you.”

“But they should.” Bucky glares at the Wakandan princess, the words burning his throat like acid. “You should. I’m dangerous. Even without the trigger words or metal arm I’m deadly. Hydra knew that. I’m a weapon to be pointed at a target. A weapon to unleash hell on the unsuspecting.”

“Stop that!” Shuri’s eyes are glistening with unshed tears and she brushes them away before scrambling to her knees in front of him. “Stop that this minute!” Grabbing his shoulders the teenager shakes him hard, before he sets his own hand against her chest and pushes her away. Bucky hears the Dora Milaje move but Shuri thrusts her hand up, palm out in the direction of the warrior, in the universal language for stop. Finding her knees once more Shuri glares at the Dora Milaje with the ferocity of the panther god she worships. “You will stay there,” she commands in a voice which brooks no argument. “He will not harm me.”

Bucky can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine when she turns the same glare on him. The Wakandan princess could bring his Ma to her knees in this moment, he’s sure, and he regrets speaking so plainly when faced with her fire.

“I will not have you speaking of yourself that way. You will stop it.” Shuri has never seemed more like a queen to Bucky. In that moment she is every inch T’Challa’s sister. “Bast! You are not a weapon or a monster. You are James Buchanan Barnes. You are just a man. A man who was badly misused, true, but a human being as deserving of friendship and kindness as any other. The goats you care for so gently know this. The people of the Border Tribe know this and trust you with their children. I know this, with every fibre of my being.” Her anger deflates as quickly as it appeared, leaving her looking tired and sad. “One day, I hope you will know that too.”

* * *

_“What’s gonna happen to your friends?” Bucky looks up to see Steve shaking his head in denial as he pilots the quinjet, and instantly knows how he will answer. Ever the martyred fucking hero. Sometimes I could strangle Erskine for what he did to you._

_“Whatever it is, I’ll deal with it.”_

_I was your shield once… Now you make yourself mine at the expense of your friends… Jesus Christ… I’m tired. Tired of causing pain and suffering to others. I might be your oldest friend, but I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Weren’t the damn bullets on the helicarrier enough of a warning? The_ _thoughts are weapons in his head but Bucky understands his friend well enough to know Steve will deflect them with a metaphorical shield as shiny as that damn vibranium disc in the weapon locker. He was always stubborn… that one I can’t blame Erskine for._

_“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve,” Bucky says instead, his bone deep weariness painting his words. Someone as toxic as me is not deserving of your loyalty, your friendship, your love._

_Steve looks as though he’s struggling to think of the right thing to say and Bucky knows he’s heard the words he didn’t speak. They know each other far too well._

_“What you did all those years…it wasn’t you. You didn’t have a choice.”_

_Bucky doesn’t really accept those words but knows arguing with Steve on this will be pointless. He knows he became a celebrated killer before Hydra ever got hold of him. The war saw to that. He also knows Steve sees the war differently to him. The all-American hero would never accept his best friend referring to his service as killing._

_“I know. But I did it.”_

_And that’s the burden Bucky will always carry. He can’t remember the grisly details of all his Hydra kills, but he’s read every file Natalia leaked on the internet. He’s committed the names of his victims to memory. I hope to Christ I never remember all the details. It would break me. Bucky lets his chin fall to his chest and closes his eyes, his hair a curtain hiding his face. Maybe that will be my true penance… to remember every tiny detail of every life I’ve taken._

_There is a rustling from the front of the quinjet and Bucky guesses Steve has set the autopilot so he can come annoy him with his righteous goodness some more. A pair of dark boots enter his field of vision and Bucky gives a quiet groan._

_“Just leave it, Steve. Please.”_

_“Buck. Look at me.”_

_Steve isn’t the only stubborn one in this friendship. Fucked if I’ll make it easy for him to throw himself any further on his damn sword. Now a pair of knees enter his vision as Steve crouches before him._

_“Look at me. Please.” Steve’s voice cracks on the please and Bucky can’t help but follow the instinctive pull in his gut at the sound of his friends pain. He fixes his eyes on Steve’s face and is shocked to see his eyes are red and swimming with water._

_“Steve-”_

_“I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m so goddamn sorry.” One of Steve’s big hands clutches his right knee in a bruising grip._

_“What-?”_

_“I left you there and I’m so fucking sorry.” Steve’s eyes close and he takes a shaky breath as Bucky struggles to understand what this is about. “When you fell… I thought you died… I should have gone back for you. Should have fought Phillips harder to recover your body. It’s my fault Hydra got hold of you again. It’s my fault they had decades to torture you. I should have wiped them out in the war, but I failed. I failed my mission and I failed you. I’m a fucking fraud and I’ll never forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused you.”_

_“What the fuck, Stevie?” Bucky leans forward and sets both his hands on Steve’s shoulders. I can’t believe what I’m hearing… How in the ever loving fuck has he managed to blame himself for any of this? “None of this was your fault. Jesus. I was the dumbass who picked up your shield instead of ducking for cover. A Hydra stooge shot me out the side of the train, not you.”_

_“He should never have reached you. I thought I knocked him out before I got back to you. I should have done a proper job of it.”_

_“Fuck… C’mon.” Bucky pulls Steve in for a hug and feels his friend scrubbing at his eyes and nose over his shoulder. “You can’t do this to yourself. It was war, Steve. You can’t save everyone in war. You know this. Millions died. Do you blame yourself for all of them?”_

_“You’re my best friend. My brother. They don’t matter. You do. I won’t lose you again, Buck. I’ll let the world burn in your place.”_

_Steve’s words are muffled against his shoulder but Bucky hears them and they send a chill down his spine that settles about his heart. No. No. I know what you’re like. This isn’t you. Don’t make it you. You can’t put me first. Your priority was always standing up for what was right. Don’t make a broken Hydra weapon your cause. I won’t let you. I’ll go back on ice if I have to._

_“Steve,” Bucky pushes Steve back by the shoulders and gives him a firm shake. “You’re being fucking stupid. One man is not more important than any other. We don’t trade lives like that. My legacy is ugly enough as it is. Don’t make it any worse. Jesus Christ! You let the world burn in my place and I’ll kick your stupid ass into the sun. We’ll see if the serum saves you from that.”_

_Not looking at Steve Bucky stomps to the front of the quinjet and slumps down in the pilot seat. He turns the autopilot off and manually changes the flightpath to avoid the dark grey clouds he sees gathering on the horizon. As the quinjet adjusts to a higher altitude the silence begins to grate on Bucky. The Steve he remembers would have fired back on principal, just to be a fucking punk. Fucked if I’m gonna have this level of tension the rest of the way to Siberia…_

_“I know you’ve got something to say.” Bucky looks over his shoulder to find Steve hasn’t moved. He’s standing like a statue, his face pale in a way it hasn’t been since before the serum. “Good sense from others never shut you up this long before. Lemme have it, Steve.”_

_“Fuck you!” The words are shaky, but Bucky will take them. Colour is returning to Steve’s cheeks as he squares his shoulders and leads with his jaw. “Fuck you. If I’m not allowed to trade lives then neither are you.”_

_Bucky spares his friend an incredulous glare before bringing the quinjet level and switching the autopilot on once more. He’s about to stand when Steve fists his hand in the front of his tac vest and yanks him out of the seat. Steve is furious, his blue eyes filled with rage and pain, but he doesn’t shout, and that somehow makes his words harder to bear._

_“Fuck you, Buck,” Steve hisses the words right in his face before throwing him down in the passenger seat he had occupied before. “Fuck you for assuming you have no value in this world. Fuck you for blaming yourself for what Hydra made you do. Fuck you for daring to think there is nothing good in you. Fuck you for wanting to trade your presence on my six for some contrived idea about my fucking reputation as Captain America. In case you missed it, I’m already a criminal. I became a criminal when I refused to sign the accords or lay down my shield. My new world had already gone to shit before you became a part of this. Fuck you, Buck. I won’t let you disappear on me again.”_

_“And what if I don’t wanna fight anymore? What if I’ve shed enough blood for two lifetimes?” The words are out before Bucky has even finished thinking them, but he can feel the weight of them, feel their truth. This is why I’m so tired… I want the fight to end. “I can’t be on your six anymore Stevie. Once this mess is sorted I’m done. I’m sorry.”_

_Steve staggers backwards like Bucky’s words are a punch to his gut. He finds a seat and slumps into it, his shoulders hunched with the weight of Bucky’s truth. His mouth opens and closes without uttering a word and Bucky feels like a heel for causing him this pain. He knows it’s the last thing Steve expected to hear._

_“I’m so tired, Stevie. Fighting is sucking the life out of me. I just… I need something good, you know? Something I can be proud of. Killing isn’t it. It never was. I found that out when I killed my first German in the war.” Bucky fixes his gaze on the sky outside the quinjet unable to look at the wreck of his friend any longer._

_“When I enlisted… Jesus… I was a stupid kid. Filled with ridiculous notions of heroism and glory. Killing my first German taught me better. He was a kid, Stevie. Younger than me. He was scared. I could see the terror in his eyes. Fuck… I reckon I looked the same to him. Two scared kids on a battlefield. Didn’t stop us trying to kill each other. Didn’t stop me succeeding.” Bucky’s words are a whisper now, but it doesn’t matter because Steve is beside him again, an arm slung about Bucky’s shoulders as he continues. “I threw up, right beside his body in the mud. Thought it was just the shock of my first kill. Everyone said that was how it went… by your second it’s easier. It’s bullshit, Stevie. At least, it was for me. Second… third… fourth… fifth… I wanted to puke each time. Sixth… seventh… eighth… I wanted to scream and puke. Ninth… tenth…eleventh… I was dying inside. I stopped counting. My heart grew colder.” Bucky gives a bitter chuckle. “I was already half Winter Soldier before Hydra ever got their hands on me.”_

_“Jesus, Buck. The war could have been over for you after Azzano. Why did you stay?”_

_Is he really asking me that? Seriously? A lifetime of getting the little shit out of every scrap he got himself into. A lifetime of worrying every time he coughed. I was your shield, Steve. I couldn’t walk away and leave you in the middle of that shitfest. I never wanted you there in the first place, but you couldn’t stay away. Just had to go and get experimented on to come save me from a fate I deserved._

_The two men stare at each other until Steve looks away, his guilt and understanding written clear on his face without Bucky giving any of his thoughts voice._

_“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t know.” Steve pulls Bucky sideways on the seat, his hands closing about metal and flesh as though he doesn’t care about the difference. His expression is clear and earnest as he speaks. “I swear to you… On my ma’s grave… that this is the last time I’ll ask you to fight. Once this mess is done I’ll let you go. Just… please… stay in touch with me. Don’t disappear on me. I need… I need to know you’re ok.”_

_If only it was that easy. You will never stop fighting and, if I stay in contact with you, I’ll get pulled back into your orbit again. How do you still not understand the power you have over me? Fuck!_

_Needing this conversation to end Bucky gives a weak nod of agreement and pulls his arms free to make his way to the weapons lockers at the back of the quinjet. Steve has felt the slow descent of the quinjet as well and returns to the pilot seat to take over the landing. Bucky passes over all the lockers until he sees the one labelled with Natalia’s current alias. Perfect… He’s looking over Natalia’s selection of guns when Steve speaks again._

_“You’re not a monster, Buck. Hydra are the monster.”_

_Bucky presses his forehead against the top of the locker with a wince. Jesus. Fuck. He’s like a dog with a bone. He’ll never let this go. There’s a slight bump as the quinjet touches down in the snow and Bucky looks up in time to meet Steve’s eyes as he pulls his shield from his locker._

_“I mean it, Bucky. I know you don’t believe it, but I’ll keep saying it until it sinks in. You aren’t a monster. You’re my friend. No matter what.”_

_In spite of himself Bucky feels a mocking smile pull at his lips. “’Till the end of the line, huh?”_

_Steve hip checks him with a huff. “Whatever, pal. Let’s get this done.” He presses a button at the back of the quinjet and the rear hatch lowers silently, the biting cold making them both shiver involuntarily. Steve looks over at him and Bucky can tell he’s read his uncertainty and fear about returning to this place. He offers Bucky a particular grin and Bucky groans internally at the sight. This’ll be some story about a dame for sure._

_“You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?”_

_It surprises him, but Bucky does remember… or he thinks he does. “Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?”_

_“You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead.”_

_Bucky snorts at the memory. “What was her name again?”_

_“Dolores. You called her Dot.”_

_“She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now.”_

_“So are we, Pal.” Steve claps his hand on Bucky’s shoulder with a reassuring nod and Bucky takes strength from it before they head out into the snows of his past…_

* * *

“You’re as irritatingly persistent as Steve was about this,” Bucky grumbles slicing some of the dense, dark bread and passing it to Shuri. She takes it from him, then settles herself more comfortably on the grass as he chops one of the tomatoes into thin slices.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. From what I know of your friend he is only persistent about things that matter.” Shuri layers some of the tomato slices on her bread and takes a bite.

A comfortable silence falls between them as they eat, but Bucky doesn’t miss the way Shuri’s brows draw together occasionally as she chews. That is a sure sign she has something to tell him and isn’t sure how he will take it. He knows her well enough now after her regular visits to his home to spot these tells in her facial expressions. He also knows well enough how to tease the teenage princess to great effect.

“You might as well spit it out. You’ll give yourself wrinkles frowning like that. You don’t wanna look like an old woman before your time.”

Shuri glares at him and pegs her crust at his face. Bucky laughs at her childish display of temper, snatches the crust out of the air and eats it. Waste not, want not, as his Ma always said.

“Just for that I’m not going to give you the gift I brought you.” Shuri cuts herself another slice of bread, layers it with tomato, and eats it slowly with a smug expression that reminds Bucky of his little sister Becca when she got one up on him in a fight.

“You brought me a gift?” he asks in some surprise. Shuri has visited him many times but never bearing any gifts, aside from the pleasure of her friendship. Aside from their obvious differences in age and life experience Bucky values the connection he is building with the young woman. It was actually a new experience for him to see a beautiful woman as something other than a sexual conquest. _I had no idea when I was young… No idea at all. My ignorance was embarrassing considering I grew up in a house full of females. Thank fuck Peggy Carter set me straight. I suppose that is one good thing to come from the war… Stevie’s girl… It’s been an age since I thought about her. It must have crushed Steve to wake up in the future without her…_ Peggy with her dark eyes and red lips only for his friend. Finally a woman had appreciated Steve and he’d lost her through no fault of his own. _How did he take that loss? Did he rage? I would have…_

“Bucky?” Shuri’s hand is warm on his forearm. “Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere really.” Bucky knows he sounds vague so he gives Shuri a reassuring smile.” Just remembering Steve in the war. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m sorry.” Shuri twists her fingers together as she meets his eyes, guilt shining in hers. “I had no idea my procedure to remove the trigger words would open the floodgates on the rest of your memories. I didn’t mean to pull down the dam wall, so to speak.”

“Hey…” Bucky pushes aside the empty chopping board and pulls Shuri into an awkward sideways hug. “It’s not your fault any of this happened. I’m grateful to you. Honestly. You gave me my life back. Don’t worry about me. I’ve endured worse. I’ll survive.”

“This is what worries me.” Shuri rests her head on his shoulder as she speaks. “You’ve suffered great trauma already in your life. You shouldn’t have to endure anything. We can help you if you let us. We have many qualified psychologists and psychiatrists. They could help you manage these memories; especially the traumatic ones from your time with Hydra. Have you even taken the antidepressants we gave you?”

“Please don’t, Shuri…” Bucky pulls away and snatches up the chopping board and knives to return them to his hut. He makes it inside before his knees collapse beneath him and he falls to the floor with a grunt, the items in his hand scattering with a clatter of noise. _Shit…_

“Bucky, are you alright?” Unable to ignore the sound of him falling Shuri has come inside and her hands are now beneath his armpits, helping him back to his feet. With the help of the princess Bucky shuffles over to his bed and sits heavily, taking her down with him.

“I can’t do it, Shuri. I can’t… Please… Just stop.” Bucky knows he’s making little sense in his panic.

After he tried to tear his body apart Shuri had sent a specialist in mental health to talk to him. That man had prescribed the antidepressants in his first aid cabinet. The pills he refuses to take. Bucky had barely been able to handle that short interaction and had promptly refused to attend any other appointments. _It’s too much like Hydra; sitting in a chair, listening to someone else tell me what I’m feeling, tell me what I need to do. Too much like orders… Jesus fuck!_

“You don’t know. Hydra sat me in a chair. Told me what to think. Told me what to do. Filled my body with god knows what. Fried my brain. I submitted then. Over and over again as they wiped and then remade me into who they wanted. I can’t submit again. I just can’t.” 

The sunlight through the doorway casts Shuri’s horror in full relief. Her mouth opens to speak and Bucky shakes his head.

“Please, Shuri. Please try to understand. I might not like enduring this avalanche, but I will. It’s only my brain trying to set things right, trying to fix what Hydra broke. Please don’t diminish what is happening to me. I both hate it and want it. I want to be me again, whatever that entails. I don’t want to be what someone else expects of me. I finally have my autonomy back and I want to keep every jagged edge of it, no matter how it stabs. Please…”

Shuri’s throat jumps as she swallows hard and nods her tentative agreement. The horror in her eyes slowly fades as Bucky cups his hand around the back of her neck and draws her close to plant a kiss on her forehead. Her hands slide about his waist and he settles his cheek against the top of her head with a sigh of relief. Exhaling a quiet thank you against her hair he pulls them both upright.

“Let’s go back outside before your guard decides to storm my home in the mistaken belief that the White Wolf is ravaging her princess.” His voice is shaky but his words have the desired effect of making Shuri laugh and swat him in the chest.

“You are far too old for me, Grandpa,” she teases as they step out into the sun. Bucky lets the light insult slide with an indulgent shake of his head. “Now… How about I get your gift?”

The Dora Milaje has moved closer in the time they were inside and she shoots another scowl Bucky’s way as Shuri climbs back into the hovercraft to rummage in the back seat. Taking the initiative Bucky approaches the wary warrior. She equals him in height and as he draws up to her side her fist tightens about her spear.

“I would never hurt her,” Bucky offers sincerely. “I owe her too much to harm a hair on her head. She is my friend.” The warrior’s eyes flick towards him, her expression blank. “If anyone should ever hurt her or threaten her… Well… Just ask Steve Rogers what I’ll sacrifice in order to protect or avenge my friends.” The warrior’s blank expression doesn’t change but as Bucky walks away he can feel her eyes on his back, assessing him. 

“Found it!” Shuri jumps down from the hovercraft and jogs back to Bucky’s side with a bulky envelope clutched in one hand. With a hesitant smile she pushes it into his hand and takes a step back, nodding for him to open it. Raising a single brow he tears the padded envelope open and pulls out what looks like a wooden photo frame. Shuri gestures impatiently for him to turn it over when he shoots a questioning look her way.

Bucky flips the frame over and the sight of the picture inside it is like a punch to the gut. All the air leaves his body and he forgets to breathe as he traces a finger over the faces locked in time. His Ma and Pa stare back at him, the baby on his Ma’s knee, Becca and Daisy kneeling on the floor before them. And there he is… Ten years old, standing between his parents with a hand resting on each of their shoulders. All of them dressed in their Sunday best, smiles gracing all their faces. The picture is black and white but Bucky remembers the colour of this moment vividly. His family had never been able to afford to have a family portrait done. His Ma had dreamed about it for years before Stevie won the drawing competition with a family portrait as first prize. Steve had insisted he take the voucher. Bucky had insisted he keep it. Hadn’t Stevie wanted a portrait of him and his Ma? No. He hadn’t. No matter how many times Bucky refused he’d never backed down. Steve had known how much Winifred Barnes had desired this and Bucky’s ma had been like a second mother to him.

“Where’d you get this?” Bucky whispers knowing tears are rolling down his cheeks and not caring as he drinks in the sight of his family whole and happy before him.

“Steve told me about it.” Shuri is beside him, an arm about his shoulders, tugging him close. “He thought it might help you to have something of your family. It took me weeks to track down this copy. You have extended family in Ohio. Your great, great, niece sent this to me.”

“Jesus…” Bucky’s head is swimming. This is almost too much for him to handle. The photograph, the memory and now he has family? “Jesus… fuck…”

“Here, sit.” Shuri presses his shoulders as he sways and guides him back down into the grass. Then she pushes his head between his up drawn knees as he suddenly remembered the presence of his oxygen starved lungs. “Breathe, you idiot,” she chides softly, rubbing a hand in soothing strokes on his back.

Bucky gives a wet sounding laugh and straightens up, setting the photo down next to him and stroking the smooth wood of the frame. “I’m breathing… I promise… Thank you for this. Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, but I can’t take all the credit. If not for Steve I wouldn’t have thought to do this for you.” Shuri falls silent, picking at a nail before speaking again. “He’s in Wakanda.”

“What? Steve’s here?” Bucky jerks in alarm and moves to duck back inside his hut, but Shuri grabs his arm and won’t let go. There’s a resolute look in her eyes and Bucky wilts in the face of it. She has something to say and he’s going to have to listen whether he wants to or not.

“He’s at the palace. He arrived late last night. He visited with T’Challa briefly this morning, but most of his time has been spent annoying me in my lab with endless questions about you. He doesn’t understand why you’ve shut him out… and neither do I. It’s clear to me that he’s here for you. He misses you, Bucky. I can see how your absence tears at him. Why do you refuse to see or speak with him?”

“Is anyone with him?” The question is asked hoarsely, the words barely formed. _Should have known he wouldn’t let me go… Stubborn shit…_

“No. Like I said. He’s not here on business. He’s here for you.” Shuri’s grip tightens about his wrist and Bucky winces at the stinging pain. “Help me to understand what’s going on in your head. Steve is your best friend. You grew up together, went to war together. He’s the only living person with any true concept of the time and people you’ve lost.” With her free hand Shuri picks up the framed photograph and thrusts it before his face. “He told me about this when I let him know I’d been successful removing Hydra’s triggers from your head. He told me the story behind it. What it meant to your mother. What it would mean to you. Don’t throw his love for you away so lightly.”

“Jesus, Shuri.” Bucky wrenches his arm free and scrubs the traces of his earlier tears from his face. “You think I don’t miss him? That it doesn’t hurt me too? I have to do this.” Shuri opens her mouth to protest but Bucky forges on, silencing her attempt. “Steve is a fighter. Always has been, always will be. I don’t think he knows how to live without some kind of battle to fight. It’s a part of the blood in his veins as much as that damn super soldier serum is now. He’s a goddam sparking sun, Shuri. A golden defiance I’ve always been drawn to, even when he didn’t have the muscle to back up his inner fire. I would follow him into hell and back if he asked. I know him better than he knows himself.” Bucky draws in a deep breath, holding up his hand to ask Shuri to wait.

“But I don’t want that life anymore. I want this one, here. I don’t want to kill anymore. I don’t want to fight. I want some goddam peace before I die. I want to build something I can be proud of. If I see Steve… He will pull me back in to a life I no longer want to live. I won’t be myself. I’ll be the soldier…”

“Does Steve know any of this?” Shuri’s eyes are now filled with a degree of understanding instead of recrimination. “Have you told him you no longer want to fight?”

“Yes. He knows. I told him before that clusterfuck of a fight with Stark in Siberia.” Bucky retrieves the picture frame from the grass and sets it on his thighs. He runs a finger over Becca’s hair then rests his palm flat against the glass. “He promised me Siberia would be the last time he’d ask me to fight.”

“Do you believe he lied to you?”

“What? No.” Bucky glares at Shuri. “Steve would never lie to me. I don’t think he has a dishonest bone in his body.” Seeing her growing confusion Bucky tries to explain the jumbled thoughts and emotions in his head. “When Steve made that promise to me I could see the pain it caused him. He will never break his promise to me, but it will hurt him each time he has to say goodbye and go into the fight without me. I don’t want to break him like that. Easier to stay away.”

“You think you’re saving him pain by avoiding him?” By the frown gracing her features Bucky knows Shuri is about to argue against his reasoning. “He’s in pain right now. He burns with the loss of you. He thinks he did something to drive you away. He’s analysed that fight in Siberia over and over trying to work out how he let you down. When he isn’t going over that he analyses his decision to leave you in cryo-sleep here. He believes he drove you away by leaving you alone while he went to save the rest of his friends. He believes you feel betrayed and abandoned.”

Each word is a slap to his face and Bucky feels sick. His upper body sways and he slams his palm against the ground to anchor himself upright. _Jesus, Stevie… How could I forget your prodigious capacity for guilt?_ The invisible tether that binds him to Steve tugs hard at his guts and Bucky groans, burying his head in his hand. _I really don’t wanna be drawn into the fight any longer. I wanna stay in Wakanda, farming my goats, swimming in the lake, basking in the sun…. But Steve is in pain because of me… I don’t want that either… Fuck!_

“I don’t trust myself,” Bucky whispers finally, meeting Shuri’s wide eyes. “I don’t trust myself around Steve.”

“What do you mean?” Shuri places a hand on his knee with a squeeze. Bucky sets his hand over hers, the contrast in their skin colours grounding him as he finds the words to explain properly.

“I told you Steve was a sparking sun?” Shuri nods as he continues. “Steve is my sun. I orbit around him. I always have. Everything I did, up until my fall from Zola’s train, was to keep Steve burning – to keep him safe. If that sun ever died… I knew I’d be lost to darkness. Every playground or back alley fight I pulled him out of was for him. I didn’t care how many licks I took in his defence so long as Steve was safe.” Shuri squeezes his knee again and leans her head against his shoulder.

“After his ma died we got a place together. He’d get sick and I’d nurse him back to health. I lost jobs taking time out for Steve, but I didn’t give a shit. There’d always be another job. There was only one Steve. People called us fags. I didn’t care, but Stevie did. He never stopped getting into fights about that. Said it wasn’t right to use who people loved as an insult. I pulled him out of a shit ton of alleys, spitting and clawing like a cat. I could have been beaten half to death for him and I wouldn’t have cared.”

“Were you…” Shuri hesitates but Bucky understands what she’s asking.

“No. We weren’t. But we knew people who were. Fucked if I ever understood why it was illegal. Stupid law.”

“You love him?”

Bucky manages to crack a grin at that. “Yeah. I love the big jerk. Always have. Just not in the way you and many others thought. Both of us liked the ladies, they just never seemed to like Stevie the same. We definitely never got hard over each other though, and we saw each other naked enough over the years to know that.”

“Ergh…” Shuri pulls a disgusted face. “I didn’t need that mental image, thank you.”

“My point is, if I see Steve a part of me won’t want to leave his side. Something inside me is tied to him. I don’t understand it, but I accept it. I’m afraid, Shuri. I don’t want the life Steve lives. I want this one. Wakanda feels like home now.”

Shuri jerks upright and Bucky blinks in puzzlement at the huge grin that splits her face.

“Did you just say Wakanda felt like home?”

“Yeees…”

“You’re an idiot, Bucky Barnes.” Shuri scrambles to her knees and rests her hands on both his shoulders, staring him straight in the eyes. “You need to trust yourself more. Wakanda is your home now. It’s found its way into your blood. Does our sun not shine at least as brightly as Steve?” He looks at her in continuing incomprehension and Shuri smacks him in the chest. “Steve is no longer the only thing you have to call yours. You’ve found your place in this world, here in this village. I don’t think you will walk away from it so easily. Do you?”

Though he’s unsure of the confidence Shuri has in him Bucky feels himself cave. Between the pull in his gut and her persistence he’d never really stood a chance.

“Fine. I’ll see Steve tomorrow.”

Shuri’s face lights up with delight and Bucky holds up a hand to forestall her joyful exclamations.

“But I need you to make a promise to me, in case I fail myself.”

The teenager nods cautiously.

“Promise me you won’t let me leave Wakanda. Don’t let me get on Steve’s quinjet without a fight. Remind me of what I want, what I’ll be giving up if I do. Make me see this place again. Make me remember that this matters more than Steve.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

“The elder says you are leaving us.”

Bucky straightens up from squeezing water out of his hair to find Bohlale walking down the path to the lake shore. Since their first conversation a few days ago they have shared two more short conversations in the rising dawn. Bucky had thanked her for all the gifts she had given him and they had settled into relatively easy conversation about village life. Bucky doesn’t pry into how Bohlale lost her leg and she doesn’t question his past either, in spite of her knowing at least some of his story already. Being in her company is relaxing and pleasant. A positive counterpoint to his often traumatic nights. _I need her friendship_ , Bucky realises as he gives her a reassuring smile in response to her statement.

“Only for the day. I’ll be back by nightfall.” _At least, I hope I will…_ “I needed someone to watch the goats while I’m gone, otherwise I wouldn’t have mentioned it to the elder.”

“Where are you going?”

The question is tentatively asked and Bucky regards the woman before him carefully before answering. She’s dressed in another colourful gomesi, her arms empty of her usual basket. Her hands are twisting together in front of her sash and her dark eyes won’t meet his as she waits for his answer to her question. _She’s late today…_ Bucky looks to the sun that has almost finished cresting the horizon. _She would have missed me if she’d waited any longer to come…_

“An old friend is visiting the royal palace. I’m going to see him.”

Bohlale visibly relaxes, a smile lightening her features as she comes to sit beside him on the shore. “I’m glad you won’t be leaving for good. I would miss you.”

Not knowing how to respond to that Bucky shakes the remaining drops of water from his hair and reaches for his tunic. As he pulls the garment over his head an awkward realisation hits him. _Jesus… Now I understand the all the gifts… I hope she doesn’t think… Oh hell._

“Bohlale?”

“Hmm?” She’s leaning back on her hands, watching the dawn light sparkle on the waters of the lake.

“I don’t know how to ask this question politely, so I’m just gonna bust it out and hope I don’t offend you.”

Bohlale tilts her head to one side as she takes in the embarrassed flush rising on his face.

“Have you been… courting me?”

“Courting?” Bohlale’s pretty face is creased in confusion. “I don’t understand this term.”

 _Oh god… Now I have to spell it out… If I’m wrong I’ll never live this down… Or worse, I could lose her company…_ “Have you been trying to win my affection… my love, with your gifts?”

Now Bohlale is flushing, looking everywhere but at him. “When you accepted them I thought…” She shoots to her feet. “I’m sorry. I will leave you alone.” She goes to leave but Bucky grabs her wrist and she flinches at his touch.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone. Please. Stay.”

“But you don’t want me.” Her eyes are stormy with humiliation and pain and Bucky hates seeing her so unwillingly vulnerable before him. _Fix this… It can’t be my destiny to constantly cause pain to those I consider friends._

“I want you as my friend. Can we be friends? Please?” Bucky gentles his grip on her wrist and pulls her back towards the lake shore. She follows him willingly, her eyes a little less stormy. “I’m sorry, Bohlale. I don’t know you well enough to want you the way you want me to. Truthfully, you don’t know me well enough to want me that way either.” Lacing his fingers with hers he points both their hands at the sun. “But I want these dawn conversations with you. I want to spend this time with you. You understand things about me on a level no-one else seems to. It’s selfish, but I don’t want to give that up. Please, just be my friend?”

Bohlale tugs on his hand, drawing Bucky around to face her. Her eyes are much clearer now, the humiliation gone and the pain fading. “I can be your friend. I meant what I said before. I would miss you if you left. There is something about you. You are part of my future. I know this.”

Unable to help the wry twist of his lips Bucky turns his face back towards the sun. “No-one can know the future, Bohlale. We can hope and dream, but we can’t know. I don’t know what will happen between us. I don’t want to know. I’m content to have what we have now. Are you?”

After a moment of contemplative silence Bohlale draws him close to her side and kisses him on the cheek. “I am content.”

Bucky closes his eyes in relief. _God… I hope my time with Steve goes this well…_

* * *

 

With an exasperated hiss Shuri slaps Bucky’s hand away from his hair. He growls wordlessly and blocks her slap directed at his bouncing leg. As the hovercraft draws closer to the palace Bucky’s anxiety increases. Shuri slaps his hand again and he realises he’d been fiddling with the laces at the top of his tunic.

“Will you stop fussing? Your fidgeting has been driving me crazy this entire trip.”

“Jesus, Shuri. Have mercy on me. You know how difficult this is.” Bucky can’t help his snapped retort and is grateful when Shuri chooses not to take issue. Now both his legs are jiggling with nervous tension. The hovercraft settles onto a landing pad on the east side of the palace. There is no-one waiting, to Bucky’s relief, but as Shuri pulls open the door his panic spikes. “Shut the door. I can’t do this. Take me back home.”

“No.” Shuri glares at him from the landing pad as he hyperventilates. “Get a hold of yourself, James Buchanan Barnes. Anyone would think I’m taking you to your execution, not to see your best friend. Okoye, pick him up. We don’t have time for this.”

The Dora Milaje moves, but Bucky is quicker. He scrambles to his feet and jumps out of the hovercraft before she can touch him. _Fucked if I’m gonna be dragged before Steve like some ailing grandma. I’ll walk there under my own goddam steam, thank you._

“Ha. I knew that would work.” Shuri has a triumphant grin on her face and Okoye is clearly biting the inside of her cheek to maintain her composure.

“You’re a little shit,” Bucky hisses in Shuri’s ear as soon as he reaches her side, both annoyed and impressed that he’d been played so easily by the teen.

“So T’Challa tells me,” agrees Shuri, unperturbed. “Shall I take you to Steve now? Or do you feel like you might faint?”

“You’ll keep,” Bucky mutters, straightening his tunic as he follows her inside.

The palace is as large and daunting as he remembers it. There are far too many people bustling about as well. It sets him on edge and makes him want to scout for the nearest available exit. He resists the impulse. T’Challa had offered him a room here, but he’d declined as politely as he’d been able to. Bucky knows his extreme discomfort in the palace had been obvious and he’d expected T’Challa to be offended. Instead the man had been sympathetic. It had been his idea to send Bucky to the Border Tribe instead. Another reason for me to be grateful to the royal family.

Before too long Shuri comes to a stop and points at the door in front of them. “These are Steve’s rooms. While the two of you chat, I’ll be in my lab getting some work done without your bestie distracting me.” She flashes him a warm smile and taps a finger against the kimoyo beads about his wrist that she had fixed the previous day before leaving. “Call me when you are done and I’ll take you home.” Her eyes fix pointedly on his and Bucky nods, translating what went unspoken. _Call me before you leave this room and I’ll either come and get you or talk you out of leaving._

“Thank you.” Bucky watches Shuri and Okoye walk away, then turns back to the door. After a small hesitation he presses his hand against the digital lock then enters the code Shuri had given him. The door slides back silently and Bucky pauses on the threshold of a room that is easily ten times bigger than his hut. _The fuck does someone want with such a huge room when they could easily go outside if they wanted space?_

The mid-morning sun floods the room with light through the large, east facing windows, and there is Steve, with his back to the door, staring out at the view. His blond hair is longer than Bucky ever remembered it being and the sight surprises him. Steve had always been particular about his hair; didn’t like it getting so long that it got in the way of his eyes while drawing. _Does he even draw anymore?_ His black t-shirt is tight about his biceps and his pants are a black copy of those he wore with his Captain America uniform. His feet are bare but Bucky can see his combat boots aligned perfectly together just inside the door. _Could he be any more Steve? Always the soldier. Jesus…_ Warmth fills his chest and Bucky takes a step forward, finding his voice.

“Steve?”

At the sound of his name Steve whips about. His face splits into a wide grin and he takes a handful of rushed steps towards Bucky before halting awkwardly, the grin fading into an expression of uncertainty and guilt. Steve’s eyes are ringed in shadows, his forehead lined with anxiety, and Bucky doesn’t even want to speculate about the reason for that beard. Steve has always been clean-shaven.

 _Jesus. Shuri wasn’t wrong. He’s a goddamn mess._ The longer the silence between them continues the more worried Steve looks. He opens his mouth, but before Steve can do something stupid, like apologise again for things that aren’t his fault, Bucky spreads his arms wide.

“C’mere, punk.”

That is all it takes. Steve barrels into his chest and almost asphyxiates him with the strength of his hug. Bucky lets out an embarrassing squeak as his feet leave the ground and he slaps Steve on the back with a wheezing laugh.

“Put me down, Steve. I’m not one of your bloody dames.”

“Sorry… sorry.” Steve sets him down, but then his hands are patting Bucky all over his face and hair, then settling on his shoulders. “God, Buck. You look good. I almost didn’t believe Shuri, but, damn, look at you. Life in Wakanda agrees with you.”

“Meanwhile, you look like shit. What’s this about?” Bucky gestures towards the beard. “You always hated beards. Said they were too itchy.”

Steve gives wry chuckle. “It is damn itchy. It was Natasha’s idea. When you’re a fugitive from justice, as disguises go, it isn’t too intolerable. She wanted to dye both the beard and my hair, but that was a hard no from me. The shit she put on her hair to make it blond stunk like the devil. No way was she getting it anywhere near my head.”

“Natalia is blond now?” Bucky can’t imagine a more unlikely scenario. No matter the mission or cover Natalia has always maintained her flaming hair. She has straightened it, curled it and cut it on a whim, but always it has been red. He remembers running the fingers of his flesh hand through those tresses as they stand close together, lips touching...

* * *

 

_The car is a twisted wreck as the soldier rips the battered driver’s door free. Blue eyes stare up at him defiantly, flaming hair stuck to the blood on her face. His target, his mission is huddled behind her. The servers in his arm whir as he reaches past her to pull the target free of the car. Feet slam into his gut and he lands on his ass, his metal hand empty save for a scrap of fabric. With a snarl he throws it away and pulls the weapon he was assigned from his back. Her blue eyes widen as he fires a single shot, at close range, through the woman and his target. Stepping back to the wreck he reaches past the woman with his flesh hand to check the pulse of his target. Dead. Mission complete. Return to handlers. The soldier turns his back on the pained gasps of the woman and walks away…_

* * *

 

“Bucky?”

He comes back to the present to find he’s on his knees. Steve is crouched before him with one hand outstretched as if unsure whether to touch him or not.

“Shit. Fuck.” Bucky claps a hand over his mouth and Steve’s eyes widen in understanding. He points to a door set in the right wall of the room and Bucky bolts towards it, silently begging his stomach to hold on for a few more seconds. Getting there just in time Bucky braces himself against the cool porcelain of the toilet and heaves his guts up. _I shot Natalia… I fuckin shot her! Jesus Christ. She should have killed me on sight, not let me escape to Siberia with Steve._

“You alright, Buck?”

Steve passes by Bucky’s shoulder as he waits to make sure he’s done puking. The faucet over the sink starts running and Steve passes him a damp wash cloth. Murmuring his thanks Bucky flushes the toilet and wipes his face and hands. Tilting his head under the open faucet he rinses his mouth out and spits in the sink before setting the washcloth down and turning to face his friend.

“I’m fine. Just memories. Bad ones. They hit me sometimes. Since Shuri removed the trigger words it’s been…” he pauses, searching for the right word. “Difficult.”

“Is this why you didn’t want to speak to me?” Steve jerks his head in the direction of the other room and Bucky follows him out of the bathroom. “Shuri wouldn’t tell me much. She didn’t want to breach your right to privacy, but I want to understand. Did you think I’d turn you away when you needed me?”

The couch he settles on is comfortable and Bucky spends a few minutes sinking into the cushions with his eyes closed, head resting against the padded back. “I know you’d never turn me away. It’s not your way, Stevie. It’s more complicated than that. Can we talk about the hard stuff later? Right now I just want to shoot the breeze with my best friend.”

“Ok. Fine. Let me get drinks for us.”

Peeling one eye open Bucky furrows his brow in the direction Steve has gone. “You know that shit does nothing for either of us now, right?”

“Indulge me, Buck.” Steve’s voice reaches him from another room, opposite the bathroom. Bucky presumes it’s the kitchen. Steve returns with two bottles in hand and passes one to Bucky. Sitting up he studies the label.

“Looks like regular brew to me. Ain’t gonna get either of us vaguely tipsy.”

“That’s not the point. It’s the symbolism of it.” Steve twists the cap off his bottle and holds out his hand to take Bucky’s back. “Let me get that for you.”

“I’ve got it.” Bucky lines up the lip of the bottle against the edge of the wooden side table and brings it sharply down. There’s the sound of breaking glass and the top of the bottle flies across the room.

“Jesus, Buck.” Steve glares across at him while Bucky laughs, tipping the bottle up and taking a careful swig. “If you’ve put a chip in that table I’m not covering your ass with T’Challa.”

“It’s fine.” Bucky puts the bottle down and retrieves the top from the potted plant by the window. Tossing it up and catching it he offers Steve a half grin. “Besides, Shuri loves me. She’ll cover me if you won’t.”

Rolling his eyes Steve sits back down, having checked the side table for himself as Bucky knew he would do. “She’s a princess Buck. And she’s far too young for you. You don’t want to dip your toes in that particular stream. You won’t just have an angry brother to deal with. You’ll have the entire Dora Milaje after a piece of your ass too.”

“I’m wounded, Stevie. What do you take me for? Shuri’s like a little sister to me and a friend. That stream is firmly fenced off.” Bucky kicks off his sandals and folds his legs beneath himself on the couch. Placing the bottle top on the side table he takes another swig from his bottle and surveys the expanse of the city laid out before them through the windows. _One day spent looking at this organised chaos will be more than enough for me… I prefer the view from my hut. Far more peaceful._

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Steve is picking at the label on his beer. “Why do you call Natasha ‘Natalia’? You’ve done it a few times now. I thought it was an innocent mistake the first time, but now I realise it’s deliberate.”

Bucky shrugs and takes another drink. “It’s the name I know her by – Natalia Alianova Romanova. I remember training her, for a time, in a place called the Red Room in Russia.” From the way Steve’s eyes are bugging out of his head Bucky judges it best not to tell his friend exactly how intimately he remembers knowing Natalia. There isn’t an inch of that woman’s body he doesn’t remember exploring with his lips and tongue. _And I shot her… Didn’t even recognise her when I put a bullet through her guts._

“She never told me she knew you.” Steve fumbles his bottle and sets it down hastily before he drops it on the carpet.

“It’s possible she doesn’t remember me.” Bucky fixes his eyes on the bright blue of the sky outside. _Blue like her eyes…_ Better to look there than at the pained horror he knows will be written all over Steve’s face. “We were both unmade and remade multiple times. The methods in the Red Room were almost as bad as Hydra. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t remember that time.”

“Shit, Buck. You shot her.”

“I know. Odessa. That’s why I puked. I remembered putting a bullet through her to kill my target.”

“I don’t mean then.” Steve looks uncomfortable and Bucky feels a coldness seep into his bones.

“Tell me, Steve.”

“Before we met on the helicarrier, before I knew who you were, you attacked us on a highway overpass. It was a mess. You had half a dozen men with you who didn’t give a shit about collateral damage. You went after Natasha while Sam and I dealt with them. By the time I caught up to you Natasha was wounded. She said you shot her and we pulled a soviet slug from her shoulder later.”

“I don’t remember that… yet.” Bucky grimaces and takes another quick pull of his beer. _Fan-fucking-tastic. Another nightmare that’ll return to me later… Wish I really could get drunk right now._

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“You really need to stop saying that, Steve.”

“And you really need to learn to listen, Buck.”

The two men glower at each other across the short distance between the two couches.  
Bucky sets his beer down carefully, his eyes fixed on Steve the whole time. _If he doesn’t stop doing that I’ll throw his ass out that damn window. I swear to god!_ Steve isn’t backing down either. He looks just as angry as Bucky feels. _This is goddamn familiar…_ How many times had they pissed each other off while living together? It hadn’t been a normal week unless they’d had at least three glaring contests like this one. _But do I really want to do this right now with him? Is this really the memory I want him to take of us when he goes?_ Bucky closes his eyes and tamps down hard on his temper. _You know Steve can’t help himself. Be the better man and let it go._

“I don’t wanna fight with you, Stevie.” The brief look of surprise on Steve’s face makes Bucky smile. “What? You really wanna go a few rounds with me right now? I’m one arm down, so you might win.”

The feeble attempt at a joke falls flat. Turning his beer bottle around in his hands Steve scratches at the edges of the label and pulls a strip of it free. He’s biting his lower lip, his eyes and face downcast as he shakes his head in the negative. Steve’s anger might have cooled but it’s obvious to Bucky that his friend is nursing a hurt he can no longer ignore. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to fool himself. He knows what’s coming. _To Steve’s credit, he did try to let this go… I guess I don’t blame him for caving. How do you shoot the breeze with someone when you think they don’t want to be around you?_

“It’s been six weeks since Shuri told me she removed Hydra’s trigger words from your head.” Steve still isn’t looking at him, his voice hoarse with raw pain as the words he’s been biting back fall out of him. “You promised me, Buck. You promised you wouldn’t run away from me again. You broke that promise knowing what it meant to me. I need to know why. I need to understand. Please… I need… Did I do something to hurt you? Have you been punishing me for something?”

Steve finally raises his head. His blue eyes are red–rimmed, silent tears tracking a path down to his beard, and Bucky freezes, pinned in place by the agony and betrayal he sees there. _Jesus Christ! What the hell have I done? How do I fix this?_ Bucky hisses in a breath but can’t form any words. His tongue feels like it’s cleaved to the roof of his mouth as he watches his oldest friend fall apart in front of him, paralysed by the awful sight.

“At first I thought fair enough… You needed time to adjust, you’d call me soon. But as the weeks slid by without contact… I wondered what I did to drive you away… The Buck I remembered wouldn’t do this to me… unless I gave him cause…” Steve buries his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. His dropped beer bottle spins slowly on the carpet, the amber liquid soaking into the floor without Steve noticing. His hands slide up to tug at his hair, body bent double as his forehead presses against his knees. Bucky is glad for the reprieve from bearing witness to the way his face is twisted in pain, but he doesn’t feel any better for it.

“I slept with my damn phone, Buck… Any time, day or night… I would have answered… Tash said you probably needed some distance… to sort yourself out… Sam agreed… So I tried to respect that… You wanted distance? I tried to give it… I tried, Buck. I tried so goddamn hard… But I’m weak… I’ve always been weak where you’re concerned… I just needed to hear your fucking voice… Why didn’t you give me that, at least?” Steve groans, loosening his grip on his hair, his forearms sliding about his head as though to shield himself from a physical blow. “You don’t understand, Buck… You never have. You’re a part of me… I’m tied to you… Every time you run from me it kills me… It makes me less… To know I’ve failed you again…”

Tears are tracking their way down Bucky’s face now. The salty drops run into his mouth and drip onto his linen pants as he tries to recall how to move. He needs to hold his friend close. Make this alright. Cut the poison out that he’s unwittingly put there. _I’m sorry, Stevie… So sorry…_

“You were always the better part of me, Buck.” The words are muffled and broken by sobbing gasps, but Bucky still hears them… feels them like a burning brand in his soul. “You’ve always been the best thing in my life… You made me believe I could be better… You made me want to be better… You still do… Everything… All I am… I wouldn’t be this without you…”

The paralysis lifts and Bucky stumbles over to Steve’s side and falls against his huddled and shaking form. As his arm slides about Steve’s back the other man uncurls and pulls him in. Steve presses his face hard against Bucky’s right shoulder, his hands clutching and scraping along Bucky’s spine for purchase. He’s like a drowning man clinging to a rock in the ocean and Bucky closes his eyes, resting his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, submitting to Steve’s clawing desperation for contact. Steve is barely coherent, his body shaking with the force of his emotion. His soul laid bare before Bucky like an alter offering.

 _I had no idea Stevie felt this way too… I’m a fuckin idiot… We both are…_ Pulling back a little Bucky cups the nape of Steve’s neck and squeezes tight. The firm hold makes Steve wince, grounding him back in his body, and some of the grief clears from his eyes. His hands fall still against Bucky’s back and he takes a shuddering breath followed by a wobbly exhale.

“I’m here, Stevie. I’m here. And I’m so goddamn sorry. This is all my fault. I swear I never meant to cause you any pain. Please believe me. I’d never deliberately do that to you. I was… afraid.”

Steve uses the hem of his shirt to wipe his nose, stares in disgust at what he’s done, then withdraws to rest his forearms on his bent knees. He looks a combination of spent, relieved, and wary as he makes a vague gesture for Bucky to explain himself. With a nod of agreement Bucky stretches his legs out before him, his shoulder brushing against Steve’s, uncaring about the wet trails on his cheeks. They will dry soon enough on their own.

“You said you were tied to me?”

Steve inclines his head in an unspoken yes, staring at his dangling hands.

“I feel that too. I always have. I think that bond is how you managed to break through Hydra’s conditioning on the helicarrier.” Bucky gives a dry chuckle that lacks any real humour. “God knows they tried their hardest, but they could never burn you out of me fully. I know that now. It was their biggest failure and my greatest strength.” A warm hand grips his shoulder as Bucky fixes his gaze on the Wakandan sky. “I remember them cutting away what was left of my arm. I remember strangling the scientist who attached the bionic one. I remember repeating my name, rank and service number over and over. I said nothing but that until they tore it all away with the damn chair. I remember resisting for what seemed an eternity. I remember you being a bright and shining light I held onto in the darkness.”

Steve’s fingers tighten painfully on Bucky’s shoulder but he doesn’t flinch. This pain is valuable. It keeps him grounded when memories of the torture he endured for decades threaten to sweep him away. 

“Even when they burned all coherent memory of you away you were still there, Steve.” Bucky digs his fingers into his own thigh. “A golden sun… burning inside. I didn’t understand back then. I thought I craved the sun because of the frozen cryo-sleep. But the sun in the sky paled, was never enough. It was you I craved.”

“Buck-” Steve tries, but Bucky cuts him off.

“Let me finish please, Stevie. I owe you this.” Bucky heaves in a lungful of air then exhales it in a noisy rush. “Before Hydra took me… twisted me… everything I did was for you. I’d have willingly walked through the fires of hell had you asked it of me… My purpose in life was always to do right by you, Stevie. To follow you wherever you went. To fight whatever battle you thought was right. This hold you have over me, this bond we share, beat seventy years of Hydra programming. That’s something fucking powerful and it scares me. Almost more than Hydra does. My sense of self-preservation gets tossed right out the nearest window when it comes to you.”

Heaving in another breath Bucky allows Steve’s silence to wash over him. Steve’s hand is still gripping his shoulder but he can’t face the man until he’s finished saying all that has to be said.

“I want to spend the rest of my life, however long that might be, here, in Wakanda, Steve. I’m building something good here and I want to hold on to that. But if you asked it of me, I’d follow you back to your quinjet, your fight, and not look back once… I was afraid to see you, to speak to you. Afraid I’d be drawn into your orbit and pulled away from what I really want.” Bucky swallows hard. “I was afraid of your pain too. Afraid, if I had the strength to ignore this pull in my gut, seeing the loss you would feel would break me. I was afraid of failing myself and afraid of hurting you… But I hurt you anyway.”

The silence grows between them for long minutes. Steve’s fingers flex and grasp at his shoulder, but he doesn’t pull away and Bucky takes the continuation of his touch as a good sign. _Steve always was very tactile and that’s never gonna change… Looking back it’s no wonder people thought we were lovers… but I wouldn’t change the punk for anything._

“We are a pair of morons,” Steve declares eventually, patting Bucky companionably, on the back. With a small grin Bucky waits for the moment when Steve notices what has happened to his forgotten beer.

“Shit! T’Challa will kill me!”

As Steve fusses around the wet stain in the carpet Bucky goes to the kitchen and finds two more beers tucked in the fridge. Reclaiming his former seat he finishes his first beer and makes Steve scowl at him by breaking his second one open the same way he had his first.

“Do ya have to be such a jerk?” Steve finishes scrubbing the carpet clean and takes the empty bottles to the bin, fishing the second bottle top out of the same pot plant by the window as he goes. The question is rhetorical so Bucky ignores it in favour of passing Steve the other beer as he sits beside him.

“I’d never ask you to leave here if you didn’t want to.” Steve twists the cap off his beer and takes a drink. “I made a promise that I’d never ask you to fight again. I just want you to be happy, Buck.”

“I know.” Bucky runs the cold surface of the bottle across his brow and gives Steve a weak grin. “I want the same for you too. Are you happy out there? Doing whatever it is you’re doing with Natalia and Sam?”

“I don’t know that happy is the right word.” Steve looks down at his beer with a sigh. “But it feels right. I know it’s what I have to do. I need to keep being a voice against the insanity of these accords until someone who can change things listens.”

It is the answer Bucky expected and he wonders if Steve will ever know what it’s like to stop fighting and just live. He wishes he had the power to give that gift to Steve and see him bask in it. _I’d do anything to give him some peace… but it’s not something within my power to do. I’d break myself trying to get him to stop fighting. And I wouldn’t care. Jesus Christ… How do I switch this off?_

“Why are we like this, Stevie?”

Steve’s brow furrows in thought as he tips his bottle up to drink again. “I don’t know. Don’t laugh, but I tried to research it on the internet?”

Bucky snorts beer out of his nose and swipes at the front of his tunic. “You what? Jesus, Stevie.”

“What? I wasn’t gonna ask the others about it.” Steve grimaces and Bucky smirks. “Clint and Tony woulda told me I was ‘gay for you’.” He makes air quotes around the phrase and Bucky’s smirk widens at the way Steve begins to flush.

“Well… we know that’s not true.” Bucky hides his smile behind his beer bottle. “Have you told them about our tiny ass apartment and the shower that ran out of hot water after two minutes… how we used to shower together so we both got hot water? If we’d swung that way the stiffies woulda been hard to hide and I never saw a single one.”

“Christ, Buck!” Steve’s face is beet red now and he punches Bucky in the shoulder, nearly spilling both their beers in the process. Bucky surrenders to his laughter and before long Steve is cracking a smile as well.

“The internet was kinda useful, as it turned out.” Steve makes his way to the kitchen with the empty bottles and Bucky hears him open a cupboard. “You want a sandwich, Buck? I’ve got bread, something that looks like tomato relish, and some sort of tinned meat.”

Bucky looks towards the windows and finds the sun has disappeared overhead, making it about midday by his reckoning. _Lunch time…_

“Yeah. Sure. Want some help?”

Before the war Bucky had never missed a meal if he could help it. Not even poverty had stopped him acquiring some sort of food, especially when he had lived with Steve. Since escaping Hydra’s clutches Bucky often forgets all about eating. The Winter Soldier never noticed hunger or thirst and had to be directed to eat and drink. It was conditioning he’d never fully shaken. He suspects it’s why Shuri always visits him at conventional meal times without having eaten first. Bucky frequently only remembers to eat once a day for himself, but he will always remember a guest’s need for sustenance and will end up sharing the meal with them.

As Steve opens the can Bucky spreads slices of bread with butter and relish. After giving the contents of the can a suspicious sniff Steve shrugs and dumps it out on his chopping board. The gelatinous mass slides a few inches and Bucky’s nose wrinkles at the sight.

“You sure that’s for human consumption, Steve? Maybe the former inhabitants of these rooms had a dog.”

“It smells ok.”

Bucky watches as Steve cuts a small piece and eats it slowly with a look of concentration. He swallows, then picks up the chopping board and scrapes the contents straight into the bin.

“No?” Bucky asks, leaning over the bin to stare at the wobbling mass at the bottom.

“No,” Steve says with authority. “Let’s just stick to the butter and relish.”

Once they have two plates loaded with their sandwiches Steve gestures for Bucky to follow him. He opens a door next to the kitchen, revealing a bedroom. The bed alone is almost as large as Bucky’s floor space inside his hut. Shaking his head at the unnecessary opulence Bucky follows Steve as he pushes open a glass door to a small balcony. Taking a seat at the small table Bucky leans back, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply, enjoying the feel of clean, fresh air in his lungs. There’s a metallic quality to it in the city that isn’t present in the village, but Bucky will take it. Being outside is far more relaxing than inside. A claustrophobic feeling tends to grip him now if he goes too long inside walls.

The sandwich is surprisingly tasty for the lack of fillings. The rich flavours of the relish burst across Bucky’s tongue and he gives his plate an approving nod as he chews enthusiastically. Bucky manages two sandwiches then looks on in astonishment as Steve packs away six.

“Fuckin’ hell, how do you pay your grocery bill?”

Steve flips him the bird as he swallows the last of the sandwiches then leans back in his seat to take in the view. “Super-fast metabolism. It’s a killer on the pantry.”

“You said the internet was kinda useful?” Bucky taps his fingers in a repeating sequence on the table as he reminds Steve of his earlier remark. “What did you find?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve pushes their plates to the side and folds his arms on the table so he can lean on them as he speaks. “After sifting through the crap I knew wasn’t right I came across some websites discussing soulmates. Let me show you…”

Half an hour passes as Steve scrolls through websites on his phone and Bucky reads each bit of text he points to. The more he reads about the phenomenon of soulmates the more he relaxes into the new knowledge. This is the answer he’s been looking for; the explanation for the platonic, yet compelling pull in his gut that demands he expend as much of his life on Steve as possible.

“I’m not sure if this explains us, but it’s the only thing I found that sounded even half right.” Steve clicks out of google and slips his phone back in his pocket. “What do you think?”

“I believe it. It feels… right.” Bucky tucks his feet up on his seat, bracing his shins against the table. “Thanks.”

The glittering vista of the city captures Steve’s attention for a time and Bucky doesn’t miss the way the fingers of his right hand curl and uncurl reflexively as his eyes scan the unique architecture. He is drinking it all in with an intensity Bucky remembers from their youth.

“Go get your sketchbook. I don’t mind if you want to draw.”

Steve jerks at his words and chews on his lower lip. “I don’t really draw anymore, Buck.”

“What? Why? It was your passion. You were so good at it.” Bucky’s dismay is real. Before the war Steve never went a day without bringing the world to life on paper. A pencil was almost a natural extension of his arm. Even during the war Steve had found time to draw, sketching each member of the Howling Commandos as they sat about campfires at night. _What the hell, Stevie?_

“I stopped drawing when you… fell, Buck. I couldn’t do it anymore.” Steve looks down at his folded hands trapped between his knees. “I’ve not really picked it up properly since.”

* * *

 

_“Knock it off, Stevie.”_

_Bucky tosses his stinking, mud covered shirt over Steve’s head then quickly steps out of his pants, joining the rest of the Howlies in the freezing river. It’s been ages since he felt clean and he immediately sets to scrubbing all the dirt from his shivering body. He ducks under the water and gives his hair a vigorous shake. When he surfaces his dirty shirt hits him in the face and drops into the water. Expelling an indignant yelp, Bucky glares at his laughing friend who is still sitting on the riverbank with his sketchbook open on his lap. Now I’m gonna have to march in wet kit. Fuck you, Steve…_

_“Give us a looksee, Cap.” Duggan wades over to Steve and peers at the sketch Steve is working on. “Oooh…Oooh…” he coos and Bucky closes his eyes in despair. “Who knew the Sarge, here, was so pretty. Give us a kiss, Sarge.” Duggan’s obnoxious kissing noises break through Steve’s laughter and Bucky gives a resigned sigh._

_“I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the last warm body on earth, Duggan.”_

_“I’m wounded, Sarge. I make girls weak at the knees with these lips.”_

_Duggan splashes away and Steve offers Bucky a look of apology as he sets his sketchbook aside. Bucky shrugs to let him know it’s ok and decides he might as well wash his shirt as he’s gonna be wearing it wet anyway. Steve wades through the water to his side as he’s rubbing at a particularly stubborn stain on the faded fabric._

_“I can stop drawing you if it bothers you.”_

_“Nah. It’s fine.” Bucky fixes a pointed look at Steve before adding a boundary. “Just stop drawing me… pretty. I’m not fuckin’ pretty. You’re two steps away from drawing me with a halo and wings, and I ain’t no angel either.”_ _Steve’s brows furrow in that way he has of letting you know silently that he’s disappointed, and Bucky splashes water in his face to break the tension._

_“Buck!” Steve splutters, rubbing the spray from his eyes with a disgruntled scowl._

_“Get yourself clean or we’ll leave you behind, ya mooch.”_

_It’s while they are pulling their clothes on and preparing to set off again that Steve approaches Bucky once more. His brow is back in that disappointed furrow and Bucky sighs at the sight. He has a fair idea of what’s coming and knows he won’t like it._

_“What’s up, Cap?”_

_The impersonal greeting makes Steve flinch. Bucky isn’t proud of his actions but it’s both a defence mechanism and a warning. On this occasion Steve decides to ignore the warning._

_“Buck. Duggan was teasing. Making something out of nothing. You know it’s just his way. You’ve served with him longer than me.” Steve rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t draw you pretty. I drew you the way I always have. I drew you as you are, what I see when I look at you.”_

_“Let it go, Steve.” Bucky pushes past his friend and hoists his pack over his shoulders. “We need to get going if we’re gonna make the rendezvous point on time.”_

_“Buck. Wait.”_

_The loud command brings all the Howlies to a halt and now it’s Bucky’s turn to flinch as all eyes fix on him. Falsworth meets his gaze with a question in his eyes and Bucky shakes his head, waving a hand to let the rest of the group know they should move out as planned. They obey their sergeant with varying degrees of reluctance and soon Bucky is alone with Steve._

_“Fine. I guess we’re doing this.” Bucky lets his pack slide from his shoulders and turns to face his friend, unable to control his spike of belligerence. “Spit it out, Steve, and make it quick.”_

_“What happened to you at Azzano?”_

_His vision whites out for a second and he swallows hard, barely able to form the words that grate out of his mouth around the hard ball of fear lodged in his throat. “The fuck, Steve?” He must look dangerous because Steve takes a step backwards before diving right back into the hellfire clawing at Bucky’s insides._

_“What happened to you there, Buck? What did they do to you? I know you almost better than I know myself and you’ve not been the same since I dragged you from that hellhole.”_

_“Shut up!” Bucky closes the distance between them in three furious strides, closing his fists about Steve’s jacket lapels and pushing him hard against a tree. Steve doesn’t resist or protest. He only stares at Bucky sadly, the pity in his eyes almost pushing Bucky over the edge into the yawning chasm he faces every day._

_“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about. War changes men, Steve. You aren’t the same man who sat in our apartment and dreamed about being an artist one day. We’re all changed.” His breathing is rapid and shallow, his lungs burning from a lack of oxygen and he releases Steve with a choking snarl. Striding away he snatches his pack from the ground and pulls it on with jerky motions._

_“This is the reality of war. We hunt. We track. We kill. A bunch of needles in a weedy bastard’s fist won’t make any of us worse than we already are. We are all monsters now, Stevie.” He hears Steve’s pained gasp but doesn’t turn back. “You drew me pretty. You drew me innocent. Never do that again.”_

* * *

 

“Fuck! Bucky, stop fighting. Stop.”

The world blurs and twists. His eyes fix on the ground far below him in Wakanda, then settle on the forest in the war. Bucky can feel Steve’s arms about his chest and the balcony railing digging into his gut, but the danger fails to register for a few long moments.

“Buck, c’mon. Don’t do this to me. You’re safe. You’re in Wakanda. You’re on a balcony of the royal palace. Just let go of the railing. Let me get you back inside to safety. Please?”

 _Shit, shit, shit…_ Bucky relaxes his fingers and forces his body to go lax in Steve’s arms. With a huff of relief that warms Bucky’s scalp Steve drags him back inside and hoists him on the bed. Bucky lays there in a daze as Steve slams the door and latches it, probably with enough force to break it. _Wakandan glass is fuckin’ tough…_

“What the hell was that, Buck?”

The bed depresses beside him as Steve sits down and Bucky slants his gaze towards his wide eyed friend.

“One minute we’re talking and the next you’re trying to kill yourself.”

“I wasn’t…” Bucky lets the protest fade in the face of Steve’s look of incredulous disbelief. “I was lost in a memory. Riding those feelings. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Are you telling me there was a time in your life when you wanted to die and I never realised?” Steve looks appalled and Bucky pushes himself upright with a grunt of effort.

“It was a long time ago, Steve, and I’m still here. I’m not suicidal. I swear to you on my Ma’s grave I’m not.”

Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes, searching for the truth of his words, and Bucky doesn’t turn away. _Please see me, Steve. Please…_

“OK. Ok, Buck. I believe you.” Steve’s whole body relaxes and the left side of his mouth quirks up. “I hope your home isn’t more than one storey.”

Huffing a laugh Bucky gets to his feet and makes his way back into the living room. “It’s not.”

“Do you live here in the city?”

As Bucky settles back on the couch Steve disappears into the kitchen and returns with two glasses of water. Bucky drinks his gratefully before replying.

“Nah. I live in a small village near the southern border. It’s a Border Tribe community. There are several of them scattered around the borders of Wakanda. Each one is managed by an elder of the tribe. My hut, my home, is a tenth the size of these rooms. I have goats. I trade goat milk for whatever I need. No money. It’s a simple life, but I like it.”

Steve is staring at him as though seeing him for the first time, but whatever he’s seeing he seems to like. His eyes are bright and he smiles warmly. Bucky feels his own cheeks warm and returns the smile.

“I think I’m happy, Stevie. It’s been a long time, but I’m pretty sure I remember how that feels.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

From his perch on top of the large natural rock formation Bucky has clear sightlines to most of the land surrounding his home. He’s even high enough to see the parts of the village that are closest to the lakeside, beyond the cluster of trees and other plants that form the border between his hut and said village. At this moment he’s sitting cross-legged atop the rock and scribbling away in his journal, but his brief moment of introspection is interrupted by the high pitched voice of the little girl in his care.

“Bucky, Bucky… Look, look!”

Lifting his head automatically he watches as the five year old performs a wonky attempt at a cartwheel, her gomesi falling over her head as she turns upside down. A smile lifts his lips as she tumbles on her ass then scrambles to her feet to try again. _She’s gonna get this down by the end of the day… Determined little madam…_

“You’ve almost got it,” he encourages, and she grins at him in excitement then tucks the hem of her gomesi into her knickers before flipping onto her hands once more. She gives him a look of triumph when the garment stays put and Bucky shakes his head fondly, returning to his writing. _I wondered how long it would take her to work that out…_

While it isn’t unusual for Bucky to be visited by groups of the village children on a daily basis, today is a first for him. Eshe’s parents approached him yesterday and asked if he would look after her while they visited an ailing relative in another of the Border Tribe villages. Bucky had been hesitant to agree, sure there was someone better suited to the task than a one armed, flash-back prone, war veteran with a dubious past, but they had been persistent. Eshe would go to no-one else, they explained. She’d had a tantrum at the mere suggestion. Plus, against all the odds, they insisted they trusted him with the care of their only child. This trust had baffled him, but he’d found himself caving in the minute Eshe threw her arms around his leg and looked up at him with a pleading hope in her eyes.

Eshe was handed to his care not long after dawn, and the majority of his day since consisted of herding goats and a small child with seemingly limitless bounds of energy and an infinite capacity for trouble. Already today he’s rescued her from the milk cellar under his shed after the trapdoor slammed shut over her head and she found she wasn’t strong enough to lift it on her own. Next she’d followed one of the goat kids up the marula tree and snagged the back of her gomesi on a sharp branch. She’d dangled there screaming for help and Bucky had bit his tongue hard in an effort not to laugh at the sight of her little legs pumping in the air as though she could run herself free of her trouble. After carrying Eshe to safety on his back Bucky fed her some lunch, hoping for at least a temporary reprieve from her unerring knack for mischief. He’d had no such luck.

While shovelling grapes in her mouth, Eshe had choked, her face turning purple. Bucky turned her over his knee and delivered a sharp blow between her shoulder blades. The offending grape had shot into the grass at his feet and Eshe had clung to him gasping for air and sobbing in fright. She’d refused to even touch the fruit after that incident so Bucky had brought out some of his fresh tomatoes and half a loaf of bread instead. He’d turned his back for one minute, to shoo away a goat kid that was sniffing at the food, and in that time Eshe managed to give herself a shallow cut across the back of her knuckles with his knife.

The child is a handful, but Bucky finds himself actually enjoying the extra activity in his day. So far he’s been too distracted to get lost in his own head, meaning the likelihood of any dangerous flashbacks is lessened. He’s found himself smiling far more than usual too. That’s an event he hadn’t thought likely any time soon.

The communication bead on his wrist chimes out a soft melody, and Bucky sets his pen down on his journal page, twisting his wrist in the sequence to accept the video call.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve looks exhausted and there’s a purple bruise blooming around his cheekbone, a small cut beneath his eye taped closed.

“Jesus, Steve. Did you argue with Talia over the remote again?”

Steve barks out a laugh at this and shakes his head. “Hydra cell. We got word they were active in Europe again. Flew out to Berlin last night. Just got done mopping up.”

It has been a week since his meeting with Steve at the palace and since then they speak at least once a day, via video call or standard audio call. It helps Bucky’s life to feel whole to have this continuing contact with his friend, and he knows Steve feels the same. Their preference might be to be together, but they had parted far more easily than Bucky had expected that day. He’d only had to fight back the urge to follow Steve once and he’d been pretty proud of himself for that.

“You alright?” Bucky scans the image of his friend that’s projected in the air before him, looking for any signs that Steve might be hiding worse injuries than the damage to his face. “If I find out you’ve called me instead of getting necessary medical attention, I’m gonna be really pissed, Steve.”

“I’m fine.” Steve’s hand comes into view, pointing at his face. “This is the worst of it. I promise. Sam fusses just as much as you, I swear.”

“Thank Christ someone does, Stevie. You’d be dead by now without someone looking out for ya.”

Steve gives a snort of derision at this and shakes his head. “So my day’s been spent punching my way into a Hydra base to bomb the shit out of it. What’ve you been up to?”

By way of answer Bucky turns his arm around so Steve can see the little girl still attempting to turn a proper cartwheel in the grass beneath his high perch.

“You can add babysitter to my resume, Stevie. Her parents trusted me to keep her alive for the day. She’s done her level best to make it a challenge, but you trained me well enough for the task.” When he brings his arm back around he finds Steve opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish and laughs at the insulted scrunch to his features.

“Someone gave you their kid for the day? Jesus! Do they know you at all? You used to moan constantly about getting stuck looking after your sisters.”

 _Do I ever regret that now_ , Bucky reflects. I should have treasured every moment spent with them while I had them. _If I’d known I’d never see them again I’d never have enlisted… But I was so cocksure I’d come back…_

“Her name’s Eshe. She and her friends are always hanging around here wanting to feed the goats. It’s like I run a goddamn day care out of my hut most days.”

As Bucky speaks to Steve he keeps one eye on his small charge, and before long Eshe grows bored with turning circles in the grass and wanders off in the direction of his shed. Knowing that is a recipe for disaster he rushes to end the call, cutting Steve off in the middle of a sentence.

“Sorry, Stevie. I’ve gotta go. The hellion is on the move.”

Steve laughs, says goodbye, and the kimoyo bead goes dark on his wrist once more.

“Eshe!” Bucky frowns at the little girl when she turns her head in response to his bellow. “Do not go in my shed without me. That is an order.” Even from this distance Bucky can make out her pout. It’s cute, but Bucky has been pouted at by three sisters in his time. _I’m not giving in to that…_

He and Eshe stare each other down for a full five minutes before the little girl breaks eye contact and skips uphill, away from the shed. Bucky watches her with narrowed eyes as she passes by his perch and continues up the hill, humming a childish tune as she bounces along. About 300 feet past Bucky Eshe finds a patch of brightly coloured flowers and sits down amongst them, plucking their stems and threading them together in a chain.

 _Thank fuck for small mercies…_ Bucky takes a breath through his nose and huffs it out, returning to his journal in the hopes of finishing what he’d started before Steve called. He’s made it a good way through recording his flashes of memory from the previous day when Eshe lets out a piercing, terrified scream. It’s a sound that instantly drives all rational thought from his head and pushes him into instinctive action. Bucky’s journal falls into the grass at the base of his perch as he leaps to his feet and turns 180 degrees in the same motion, his pen still clutched in his fist.

Two men are standing up the slope, crushing Eshe’s flower garland beneath their feet. The little girl is struggling in the arms of the tallest man while the shorter one points a rifle straight at Bucky. The man holding the rifle yells something in a language Bucky doesn’t understand as he leaps from the rock formation, landing in a crouch at its base. As he straightens up the man waves his rifle and yells at him again. Eshe is still wriggling and kicking in the arms of the other man, her little face awash with tears, and Bucky feels a cold rage settle in under his skin at the sight of her terror.

“Let. Her. Go.”

It’s evident the men didn’t understand his words, though they pick up the meaning easily enough. They laugh, and the man with the rifle waves the weapon around some more as Bucky starts to pace towards them. He makes it fifty feet before the first shot zips by his right ear and another fifty feet before the second shot takes him in his right bicep. _Your sights are wrong, motherfucker…_ Bucky ignores the pain and continues to pace towards the men.

Eshe has fallen silent with the first rifle shot, her wide dark eyes now fixed on the right sleeve of his tunic. Bucky can feel blood running freely down his arm and soaking that sleeve, but clutches the pen in his hand even tighter. His blood and pain don’t matter. Only Eshe. Keeping her safe is his mission.

“Let. Her. Go.”

The third shot misses him completely due to the shaking hands of the shooter, allowing Bucky to move closer to his targets. His fingers loosen, then tighten about the pen, adjusting his grip automatically to compensate for the addition of the slippery blood running over his hand. _Close enough…_

Bucky launches himself across the remaining distance, twisting his body in mid-air to be parallel to the ground. His right foot kicks the rifle from the shooter’s hands while his left foot plants squarely in his gut, knocking the target on his ass hard enough to send him skidding back a few feet. At the same time Bucky stabs the pen down into the right forearm of the man holding Eshe. The target lets out a howl of pain and releases the child to clutch at his wrist just below where the pen has impaled him. Bucky gathers Eshe to his chest as he falls out of his attack, curls into a ball around her, then allows momentum and gravity to roll them both back down the hill. After a short, jolting ride Bucky digs his heels into the ground to bring them to a halt as they pass by the rock formation. Using it for cover he sets the scared little girl on her feet and wipes her tears away with his bloody thumb.

“Eshe?” The child blinks at him in confusion then folds her arms about his chest with a sob. Bucky gently pushes her back, hand on her shoulder. “Eshe. I need you to run to the village and get some help. They won’t touch you again, I promise. Can you do this for me?” She’s still scared, but Bucky is relieved to see a determined fire taking hold in her dark eyes.

“You hurt,” she says, touching her hand to his blood soaked sleeve, then pulling it away and rubbing it clean on her gomesi.

“I’m fine, I promise. When I step out from behind this rock I want you to run. Keep this rock between you and the men, as much as you can, until you pass the tree line there.” He points and Eshe nods her understanding. “You run fast, ok? Find someone, and stay away until you’re told it’s safe. Understood?” She nods again and Bucky stands, letting the coldness of the soldier chill the fire of the bullet wound in his bicep. Eshe is staring at him and he gives her a small encouraging smile before stepping out into the line of fire once more. He hears her little feet dashing away then returns all of his focus to the two men 300 feet up the slope.

Only one of the men is still conscious. He’s bending over his companion and shaking him with one arm, while the other is cradled against his chest. He doesn’t have the rifle so Bucky assumes it’s still lying in the grass wherever it has landed. He hasn’t even noticed Bucky reappearing on the slope. _Fucking amateur hour…_ _How do these guys even get dressed in the morning?_ The man on the ground starts groaning and Bucky’s mouth pulls into a vicious smirk. _I hope I broke every one of your goddam ribs, motherfucker… I hope ya feel that kick for months…_

It’s then the other man notices Bucky watching them and makes the move he should have started with. He turns and runs away, heading for the nearby border of Wakanda. _Much too late, asshole…_ Bucky bolts up the hill after him like an avenging gazelle, closing the distance between them easily. Once he’s close enough he throws himself onto the back of the man, driving him hard into the hillside. The target yells in pain as Bucky stands and plants his right foot firmly against the back of his neck. _How easy it would be to snap his neck right now…_ Leaning forward Bucky grabs a fistful of the targets short, tight curls and pulls his head up, twisting his neck at a painful angle. The target’s dark skinned face is lined in pain and fear as Bucky bends closer.

“You trespassed in the wrong village. You messed with the wrong child. You will end this day wishing I snapped your neck right now.”

The target whimpers, understanding the menace behind the unfamiliar words.

The sound of running footsteps breaks through Bucky’s rage and he turns his head to see five of the village warriors approaching, spears in hand. He steps back and lets them take charge of the situation; watching as his targets are each dragged away in the grasp of two warriors, alternately groaning and babbling in whatever language they speak.

“Princess Shuri has been advised of your injury, White Wolf.” The fifth warrior is standing by Bucky’s right side, the missing rifle slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning over the blood soaked sleeve of Bucky’s tunic and the blood running constantly from his fingers to puddle in the dirt. “Our doctor will accompany you on the journey to her lab.”

“Sure…” Bucky can feel himself fading fast as the adrenaline rush abandons him, and isn’t sure if it is due to blood loss or an imminent flashback. “Just... gimme a minute,” he mumbles under his breath, then passes out.

 


	7. Chapter 7

A stinging sensation on the back of his hand is the first thing Bucky notices, followed shortly after by the feel of a leather cuff about his wrist and another just above his elbow. Before he has a chance to panic or open his eyes Shuri’s voice reaches him along with the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s ok, Bucky. You’re safe in my lab. I’m sorry I cuffed you, but I didn’t want to risk your arm flailing about and dislodging the drip line.”

“What is it?” Bucky croaks out, his squinting eyes taking in the bag of near empty clear fluid being administered into his vein.

“Just a basic saline solution. I’ll remove it in a minute. It wasn’t ideal, but the best we could do in lieu of a transfusion. Given your unique genetic makeup I didn’t want to risk introducing different blood into your system. We have no idea how your body would have reacted and you were already weak enough.” Bucky gives her a look of dazed confusion and Shuri sighs. “The bullet severed an artery. You lost a lot of blood. It was almost too much, even for your super healing cells. You’ve been unconscious for several hours and used up four bags of hypertonic saline dextran.”

Lifting his head off the table slightly Bucky studies his upper arm. The wound has been sprayed with Shuri’s synthetic bandaging so he can’t see the damage. He can feel the pinpricks of his cells slowly knitting together though, along with a few tiny sensations of wrongness.

“Dissolvable sutures?” he guesses and Shuri nods.

“Without our intervention you would have bled out before your artery had time to heal on its own.”

Bucky accepts all this with a nod and a quiet word of thanks. Shuri gives his shoulder a squeeze then sets about removing the drip line and the cuffs. As soon as he’s able to move freely Bucky sits up with a small groan and swings his legs over the table edge.   
“Who were they? Why’d they try to take Eshe?”

Shuri sits on a stool with wheels and rolls over in front of him. “From what I’ve been told, they were very low ranking people traffickers. They got lost after their jeep broke down a couple miles south of our border. They had no idea where they were, but when they heard the sounds of your village and stumbled across Eshe… Well… They took a chance.” Shuri’s mouth hardens into a thin line and her eyes narrow. “This is not an altogether uncommon occurrence, unfortunately, and precisely why the Border Tribe exists.”

“Is Eshe alright?” Bucky’s knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the table. The strength of the rage he feels towards the two men scares him. Were they in front of him right now he thinks he might just snap their necks and not think twice about what that makes him. _Far better that I focus on Eshe… I don’t want to be the monster Hydra made me… I stopped the fuckers from taking her. Let T’Challa deal with them now…_

“She’s a very brave little girl.” Shuri holds out a tan button down shirt that’s pinned at the left shoulder. With a nod of thanks Bucky raises his arm and let her dress him as she continues to speak. “She’s with her parents right now and seems to be none the worse for her ordeal.” Shuri chuckles as she fastens the last buttons. “Eshe insisted on feeding and penning the goats for the night in your absence. She was intent on staying up until you returned home at first. Her parents had to offer the compromise of her seeing to the goats then going home to bed instead.”

“She’s resilient, I’ll give her that,” Bucky concedes with a small smile of pride as Shuri sits back down in front of him. “Kept me on my toes for most of the day… What?” _Why is she looking at me like that?_ Shuri’s brow is creased in worry, her mouth pinched in a determined line. _Oh… this is not gonna be good…_

“Bucky… I need to talk to you seriously about something, and I need you to stay calm while I do it.”

“Not a good start.” Bucky tries to stand, his body vibrating with the sudden tension her words have evoked, but Shuri pushes him back down firmly. Rolling her stool between his legs she blocks off his easy escape route. For a mad second Bucky considers rolling backwards over the table and fleeing that way, before discarding it equally fast as a pointless action. _Shuri will have this conversation with me eventually, I might as well get it over with now._

“Eshe was very helpful as well as brave.” Shuri sets both her hands against his knees as though she has guessed his thoughts of escape and wants to hold him there. “She described where you were shot and your level of bleeding. She guessed how bad it was even though you told her you were fine.”

“She’s a smart kid.” Bucky shrugs his shoulders, unsure where this is going, but knowing Shuri hasn’t reached her point yet.

“She is. She might even make a Dora Milaje one day.” Shuri shakes her head as though uncomfortable with her praise. “Not something I normally think about a child barely five, but the level of detail she used when describing your fight with the traffickers… It was astonishing for a small child afraid for their own life. Eshe has a head for detail and analysis beyond her years. What she told the village elder… I’m worried about you, Bucky.”

Shuri’s dark eyes fix on his now and Bucky feels his heart sink into his guts at the censure he sees there. It’s a look he’s never seen before from the princess and he doesn’t understand it. _Is she disappointed in me? Why?_

“Why did you let yourself get shot? Why didn’t you dodge the bullet? You have faster reflexes than the average man. There was no need for you to get hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” Every muscle in Bucky’s body locks up hard and he jerks away from Shuri’s intent scrutiny, annoyed by her implication. “Are you suggesting I wanted to get hurt? I wasn’t even thinking about myself. My only thought was saving Eshe. I was running on instinct, not some suicidal desire.”

“I don’t think you’re suicidal, just stupid and stubborn beyond all reasoning.” Shuri huffs out an exasperated breath lifting a hand to grab Bucky’s chin and turn his face back around. “Bast! You are such hard work sometimes. Let me show you what Eshe said.”

Bucky frowns at her in confusion and Shuri rolls back a foot, activating one of her kimoyo beads. A holographic image of Eshe fills the space between them, the voice of the village elder clear in the recording. They speak Wakandan, but subtitles flash as they converse so Bucky has no problem understanding.

“You say the White Wolf looked different when he jumped down from the rock?”

There is blood on Eshe’s gomesi, the sight of it hurting Bucky’s heart. _My blood… a child should never have to see that… goddam…_

“Yes. All day he had been Bucky. But then he wasn’t. His face went like this.” Eshe makes her face go expressionless, her eyes blank, and Bucky feels his blood chill in his veins.

“Then what did he do?”

“He began to walk towards us. Like a panther. He told the man to let me go and the other man shot at him, but he didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even dodge. He got shot here.” Eshe points to the corresponding place on her own bicep. “He jerked backwards and started bleeding lots. I thought he would fall but he didn’t. He told them to let me go again and just kept walking.”

The pointed look Shuri sends his way as she stops the recording makes Bucky swallow hard. His voice is rough when he speaks.

“I wasn’t the Winter Soldier. I was still me, I promise you. When I fight…” _How the hell do I explain this in a way she will accept?_ Bucky rubs the back of his neck, his fingers tangling in his hair. “This is… I was the Winter Soldier for the better part of seventy years. The way he fights is the way I fight. It’s instinctive... primal. When there’s a threat or danger I’m incapable of making a conscious choice to fight another way. That part of the Winter Soldier will never leave me. I don’t think I want it to. Not when I can use it to my advantage.” Bucky sighs and lets his hand slap down on his thigh. “I don’t want a life of fighting, Shuri, but I will defend what I care about. I will use every advantage I have to win. Come for those I care about… and you will face the best parts of the man who was the Winter Soldier.”

The lab is eerily silent as Shuri processes his words while chewing on a nail.

“I was in control, Shuri. Those men would be dead right now if I hadn’t been.”

“And yet, you almost died.” Shuri’s worry hasn’t abated. “The Winter Soldier might have fought that way, but Bucky Barnes can’t.”

“I don’t-”

“Just listen to me!” Shuri’s shout echoes around them and Bucky flinches. “The Winter Soldier had an adamantium arm. I’ve researched how you fought with it… moved with it. You used that arm as both a weapon and a shield. The Winter Soldier walked straight into many fights without ducking or dodging because he had a readymade shield to hand. A shield you don’t have anymore. The Winter Soldier would have beaten the traffickers without injury, but without the metal arm to block the bullets you were shot.”

“Shuri…” The colour has drained from Bucky’s face. _Not this again…_ He forces his voice to be as calm as possible, excusing the shake he can’t quite tamp down. “I won’t submit to another metal arm. I can’t. I can’t risk losing who I am... Who I’ve become. Wire another arm into my brain and I’ll be a machine again. Hydra made me a monster with that arm. I need my humanity, Shuri. You know this. Please let it go.”

“Then you need to learn a different way of fighting.”

Shuri takes hold of his wrist as he walks past her and he shrugs her off, heading for the ramp to exit the lab. Bucky is most of the way up the ramp, not clear at all about where he is going – _just away_ \- when the sound of a stifled sob reaches his ears. He stops instantly, frozen in indecision.

_Is Shuri crying? Why is she crying? Is this my fault? Goddam…_ Taking a deep breath Bucky squares his shoulders and turns around.

Shuri looks up in surprise, when he reappears at the bottom of the ramp. She hastily swipes at the tears on her cheeks, her face red with what Bucky assumes is her embarrassment at being caught crying, and coughs her throat clear.

“Are you alright?” Bucky comes forward and grabs another stool, rolling it over to the desk Shuri is sitting at. There are holographic screens around her and Bucky almost falls onto the stool when he recognises what the plans displayed there are for. “What-?”

“T’Challa has had me working on this since we put you in cryo-freeze.” Shuri’s voice is soft as she rotates the plans for a vibranium arm before him. The holographic arm splits apart, the layer of vibranium peeling back to reveal the complicated wiring and circuitry inside. “This arm would have sensation nearly equal to your right, and strength that potentially exceeds your adamantium arm. I’ve put my best work into this to give you the most natural replacement possible for your arm. The vibranium plates are more flexible than your old adamantium plates. The circuitry and servers are silent. It would be as though you never lost your arm at all… Save for the appearance of it.”

The arm is a dark grey with golden accents; the grey so dark that it almost appears black. It bears no real resemblance to the arm Hydra had forced on him, but the sight of it still makes him feel sick. _No… No…_ Paralysed by his fear Bucky can only stare, and Shuri takes his silence as permission to continue talking.

“It would be wired into your central nervous system the same as your natural arm. I’d like to replace the old wiring in your shoulder as well. It’s completely inadequate-”

“Stop.” Before Bucky can control himself he’s punched the table in front of him, hard enough to smash through to its innards. The hologram dissolves and the computer dies.

“Bast!” Shuri springs to her feet in alarm, reaching for his shaking arm to lift his fist out of the dead unit. Bucky winces in pain as she pulls it free. Shards of glass and metal fall back into the ruin, trails of blood following after. “What have you done to yourself?” Her eyes fill with tears as she reaches for a can of synthetic bandaging and some tweezers.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky rasps as she tends to his hand quickly and efficiently. “I know you mean well. I do. I’m just not ready… I can’t…” Words fail him and Shuri sets his bandaged hand in his lap with tears running down her cheeks.

“I want to help you, Bucky. That’s all any of us want to do. You can trust us. I promise you on my mother’s life.” She takes a shaky breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “Please know T’Challa and I would never force you to do anything against your will. We will never force you to accept this gift… but one day we hope you will ask for it.”

“I broke your computer...” In his raw state this is all Bucky can manage, inadequate as it is in the circumstances.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a machine. I can replace it.” Shuri leans forward and pulls Bucky into a one-sided hug. “But I can’t replace you. You’re not a machine. You’re my friend. You need to take better care of yourself.”

* * *

 

_Natalia is bleeding. She touches her finger to her cheek then stares at the blood on her fingertip as though she can’t believe it’s there._

_Red… like her hair… like the name of this facility. Of the 28 young women here Natalia is the most promising. She will be the best once I’m done with her._

_“Your one flaw is how obvious you are with your intentions in combat.” James points his bloodied knife at her. “I’ll keep cutting you until you learn to mask the way your eyes reveal this information.” He crooks his fingers at her, dropping into a predatory crouch. “Again, Natalia.”_

_Her eyes regard him coolly, giving nothing of her feelings away to their audience, but James knows she is angry. I know her better than anyone else here._

_There is a feline grace to Natalia as she assumes her fighting stance. She twirls her knife about her fingers and James resists the urge to smile as she darts towards him. They join in combat again and it takes two more cuts before Natalia manages to get the best of him. His face is in the dirt, Natalia’s blade against his jugular, before her handler steps in to stop her._

_“Good, Natalia… Very good. You can let him up now.”_

_Her knee against the small of his back is warm, her left hand tugging his head back by the hair. The muscles in his neck are pulled taut and the blade against his throat is cold. James waits, knowing what she will do. The blade traces a cut beneath the line of his jaw as Natalia releases him and stands back._

_“Natalia! What have I said about damaging the merchandise? Hydra will not be pleased if you ruin him.”_

_Later, as they lay tangled together in post coital bliss, Natalia kisses the length of the already healing cut beneath his jaw._

_“Forgive me,” she mumbles against his skin, her hot breath making him shiver._

_“Only if you forgive me.” James strokes her cheek, thumbing the raised scab there. “I love you, Talia. We will be free soon. I swear it to you.”_

_Natalia lifts her head and their lips meet in a gentle kiss. “You know I forgive you everything… You’ve made me better, James.” Her lips purse in an impish grin as she reaches down to grasp his already hardening cock. “You’ve been the most… enlightening teacher. The most compelling friend and lover.”_

_His breath quickening James cups the back of her head and pulls her in for a bruising kiss. “Do you love me, Talia?”_

_“Always… More than the sun.”_

_Natalia is a talented liar, but she has never been able to lie to him. Nor can he lie to her. They’ve been trained to be cold, to be calculating, and to be ruthless… and they are… but not with each other. Never with each other._

_Two days later they are running across national borders together, fleeing the Red Room and Hydra. They barely stop to rest, taking advantage of all their training and conditioning to keep going beyond the bounds of normal men._

_Five days later a Hydra strike team smash their way into their safe house. Natalia screams as they are pulled apart, the sound tearing all breath from James’s lungs. Natalia fights as James feels the needle sink into his neck. He passes out to the sound of her screaming his name._

_Consciousness is not better. They are in a cold white room. James feels restraints about his wrists, can see the device above his head. No…Please no… don’t take this away… Turning his head he sees Natalia strapped into another of the machines. She is sobbing softly, staring at the ceiling._

_“Talia… I’m so sorry.”_

_“Don’t say that.” Natalia glares at him through her tears. “Don’t you ever regret giving me the gift of your love, James. Don’t you dare.”_

_“Love, Miss Romanova?”_

_The pair stiffen as a tall man in a white coat makes his presence known to them. He pauses in front of Natalia and runs a hand down her throat, stopping over the hollow between her breasts._

_“Love is for children, Miss Romanova, and you are not a child. You are a tool.” Pulling his hand away he rubs it on his coat. “A valuable tool. The Red Room don’t want to lose their_ _top student to childish notions of love.”_

_Natalia glares with real venom at the scientist as he turns to James with a displeased scowl. “And as for you… Our superiors want their prize weapon back. They find you too valuable for termination. You will both be reprogrammed, then Hydra’s arrangement with the Red Room will be at an end.”_

_James pulls against his bonds as the man lowers the device over Natalia’s head and forces the rubber guard between her resisting lips. His struggles are futile, as he’d known they would be. In no time at all the device is around his own head, the rubber guard between his teeth. The scientist signals someone else to pull the switches on the machines and the room fills with the sounds of two sets of wordless screams._

_Talia… No… Please… Tal… It hurts… It hurts… Make it stop… Make it stop… Make it stop… Where am I?_

_An agonising length of time later the pain ends and he slumps into the chair in relief. Across the room a woman with red hair is gasping for air. She is taken away and he wonders who she was and why she was here with him. He wonders who he is. Then someone tells him…_

* * *

 

“I need to go…” Bucky pushes out of Shuri’s hug. His eyes are burning with tears he doesn’t want to shed and he shakes his head, pressing his hand against his forehead. “I need… I want to go home. Please, Shuri?”

“Are you ok?” Shuri squeezes his hand between both of hers and Bucky moves his head in the negative. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Bucky knows she is aware he’s had another flashback but the last thing he wants to do is share it. The memory is painful enough without giving it voice. He doesn’t want to ride these feelings in tandem with his trauma over the arm.

“I’d rather not.” Dropping his head so his chin rests against his chest, he closes his eyes. “I’m exhausted. I just want to go to bed and sleep for the next three days. Please, just take me home?” There’s a short silence and Bucky opens his eyes to stare in pleading at the Wakandan princess. Her face full of sadness she nods and holds out her hand for him to take.

“Let me help you,” she says and Bucky nods weakly, letting her pull him to his feet.

“Thank you, Shuri. For putting up with me. For not giving up on me.”

“Never.” Shuri pulls his arm over her shoulders and takes some of his weight as they stumble up the ramp together. “I’ve always got your back. No matter how annoying and stubborn you are. Being T’Challa’s sister has given me a lot of experience in annoying and stubborn men.”

“I promise I’ll never tell him you said that.”

Shuri snorts in amusement. “He already knows how much of a pain in the ass he is. I’ve never been shy about telling him.”

Bucky manages a weak laugh in response before falling silent. The rest of his journey home is pretty much a blur. He remembers being manhandled into a seat in the hovercraft. He remembers voices talking softly over his head but can’t be bothered opening his eyes to see who they belong to. Then he opens his eyes and sees the roof of his hut overhead.

“Sleep,” someone urges in a softly accented voice, and Bucky does.

 


	8. Chapter 8

The maddening itch of the nerve endings healing in his hand wakes Bucky a couple of hours after dawn. With a grumbling groan he throws his blankets off and sits up, tapping his hand gently against the side of the pallet to mask the itch. _I give it another couple hours and my bicep’ll be itching…_ This has to be the worst part about accelerated healing.

After eating a handful of grapes as a rudimentary breakfast Bucky dresses and makes his way to the goat shed. Milking the nanny goats is usually a meditative task but today he finds he can’t settle into it properly. All he can think about is the image of the metal arm Shuri has designed for him, the tears she cried about not being able to help him as she wanted, and the fear he’d felt at the sight of it.

_Fuck! This isn’t Hydra… It didn’t even look like Hydra’s arm… You know Shuri meant well… Why not just take it? You know life would be easier with two arms… His stomach lurches and he takes a deep, slow breath to quell the nausea. I can’t… I can’t… Goddam it!_

Once the goats are grazing on the hill and the milk has been stored in his cellar Bucky sits in the grass and unlaces his tunic. His fingers slide inside and make their trembling way towards the scars that mark where flesh meets metal. _C’mon… You can do this, Barnes… It’s a part of your body. Just fuckin’ touch it._ Closing his eyes Bucky inhales a deep breath and forces his fingers to touch the scarring on his chest. His heartbeat accelerates and his throat goes dry. Forcing his breathing to remain slow and deep he slides his fingers across the ridge until they are touching the cool metal. _It’s a part of me… My body… not fuckin’ Hydra… Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck…_

It’s getting harder to push the nausea down. The closer his hand gets to his shoulder, the longer his fingers stay in contact with the metal plating, the more his stomach roils. With a harsh breath Bucky pulls his hand free of his tunic and curls his fingers in the dirt. _I’m so fuckin’ sick of this. The anger… the revulsion… the fear… I want it all to stop… I want to be me again. How long is it gonna take? Fuckin’ hell!_

Without stopping to think about it Bucky follows his instinctive need and places a video call to Steve.

“Buck? Wha…time’sit?”

Initially the holographic screen is black until Steve flicks the switch on a nearby light. He squints at his phone, his face scrunched sleepily, an epic case of bedhead revealed as he lifts his head from his pillow.

“Sorry, Stevie.” Bucky has no idea where Steve is in the world, but wherever it is it looks to be a different time zone to Wakanda. He isn’t about to ask though, as he knows it’s vital for Steve’s location to remain secret.

“S’ok.” Steve rubs his free hand over his eyes and stretches his jaw in a massive yawn. “What’s up?”

“I got shot yesterday.”

“What?!” Just like that Steve is fully awake. He lurches up to sitting on his bed, his free hand stretching towards the phone as though he can touch Bucky through the screen. “What happened? You ok?”

“People traffickers tried to take Eshe.”

“Shit!”

“I stopped them. Got shot in the bicep in the process. Almost healed already.” Bucky decides not to mention the severed artery as Steve looks anxious enough already. “Eshe’s safe with her parents and the traffickers are gonna face T’Challa’s justice, whatever that may be.”

“God, Buck…” Steve’s jaw tightens and loosens reflexively. “How many-”

“Two.” Bucky’s lips twist in contempt. “They were amateurs, Steve. Had no fuckin’ idea what they were doing. Couldn’t even set the sights on their rifle properly.”

“And yet, those two amateurs managed to shoot you. How’d that happen?”

The look on Steve’s face mirrors Shuri’s censure from the previous night. Bucky sighs in resignation. _Should’ve known Steve would ride me as well…_

“Ease up, Stevie. Shuri already took me to task about it last night. I wasn’t trying to get hurt, if that’s what you’re worried about. I fight instinctively, but those instincts are built around my metal arm.”

The censure fades as Steve nods his understanding. He rubs a hand over his brow, opens his mouth as though to speak, then closes it again in clear hesitation. Bucky has a feeling he knows why and decides to get to the point of why he called.

“Shuri’s been working on a new arm for me.” The lack of surprise on Steve’s face tells Bucky what he suspects is true. A small kernel of betrayal nips at his gut and he knows it will show in his expression. “How long have you known?”

“Since I took you to Wakanda.” Steve is pale and anxious, his free hand stretching out again towards the screen as Bucky recoils. “Please, Buck, don’t hang up. Just listen. I asked T’Challa if it was possible for them to rebuild your arm. He told me Shuri would be able to do it and he’d get her onto it straight away. At the time, none of us were aware you wouldn’t want that. When Shuri told me how you fought about it… I felt terrible. I swear to you, I only wanted to help you.”

The irrational part of Bucky’s brain is screaming in fear, drowning out Steve’s pleading. He squeezes his eyes shut and struggles to pull what’s left of his reason and logic out of the swirling mess. _Fuck! Steve would never do anything to hurt me. Neither would Shuri… What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I like this? When will it stop?_

“I’m tired, Stevie. So goddam tired.” Bucky hears Steve take a hitching breath at his words and pries his eyes open to look at his friend. Steve’s hands must be shaking as his image is vibrating on the screen. In spite of this Bucky can see Steve’s lips are pressed together in a thin line, his face pale with his worry. “I’m a fuckin’ mess and I just can’t shake it. What Hydra did to me…? I can’t even look at myself. I see the metal plates on my body and I wanna tear myself apart, tear Hydra out of me. I can’t even touch that part of me without wanting to puke. It’s exhausting. I wanna be free of feeling this way. I wanna be me again. I wanna be able to just take what Shuri is offering but… Jesus, Steve. I don’t trust myself. I’m not what you all need me to be.”

“Buck…” Steve’s hands are still shaking, his voice low and intense. “I don’t need you to be anything except for my friend. Alive and breathing. A phone call away. The rest of it? Jesus… You lived in hell for seventy years. That can’t be fixed in two months or even two years. Go easy on yourself. You need to give yourself time. As much time as it takes.”

“And the arm?” Bucky shudders at the thought, unable to look at his friend. There’s silence as Steve considers his question.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you to take it. I think you’d be safer with it, that it would make your life easier.” He pauses until Bucky meets his eyes once more. “But I won’t tell you to take it. It’s not my place. The decision has to be yours.”

The tension bleeds out of Bucky’s body and he pulls his knees up to his chest. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“Any time.” Steve’s head turns abruptly to the side and Bucky hears the sound of a knock on his bedroom door.

“When you’re done with your boyfriend, Rogers, can you meet the rest of us in the jet? Wilson got some new intel.”

_Talia… Jesus…_ The newly recovered memory washes over Bucky again at the sound of her voice. The remembered pain hits him like a punch to the guts once more. A noisy exhalation escapes him and Steve’s brow creases at the sound.

“Gimme a moment, Romanoff.”

“You’ve got two minutes.”

Steve kicks his covers off and arranges his phone on his bedside table so he can dress while finishing his video call. “You ok, Buck?”

“Yeah…” Bucky chews on his lower lip before deciding to continue. He has to say something. Steve needs to know Natalia might not be as reliable as he thinks in a crisis. “I remembered something about Natalia last night.”

Steve pauses with one of his boots in his hand and gives Bucky his full attention. “Go on.”

“You know the chair Hydra used to wipe me?”

Steve winces with a brusque nod, his expression darkening.

“They used it on Natalia, at least once. I was there.”

“Jesus.” Steve pulls his boot on with more force than necessary. “Do you know why?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s throat feels dry, the words rasping out of him. “We were lovers, Stevie. We weren’t supposed to be capable of love. We were machines… tools to Hydra and the Red Room. We tried to run from our handlers, to start again, be free. It took the Hydra strike team a week to catch up with us. We were both wiped. We should have been terminated, but we were too valuable to our handlers. They strapped us down and wiped us… in the same room. I’d forgotten her screams. Until yesterday.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry, Bucky.” Steve’s eyes are wide with shock, empathy and more than a hint of rage. “Hydra will never pay enough for what they’ve done to you.”

Bucky shakes his head in exasperation. “No, listen. I’ll be fine. It was a long time ago. Just… be careful, Stevie. If Talia hasn’t recovered the memory of our time together yet, it could hit her unexpectedly in the field.”

The line between them crackles with static and the holographic screen splits down the middle, Steve looking confused and alarmed on the left and Natalia looking annoyed on the right.

“Hurry up, Rogers. We haven’t got all night. And as for you, Barnes...” Her annoyance fades into fond exasperation. “I remember you, James, and the past we shared together. The second I saw your unmasked face after our firefight on the highway it all flooded back. The memory caused me as much shock as the blood loss.”

Bucky can’t help gaping like an idiot and is relieved to see Steve appears to be similarly afflicted.

“I forgive you for shooting me, by the way. It was a great cover as I sorted out the explosion of memories in my head.”

“How long have you been listening in, Talia?” Bucky finally finds his voice and is embarrassed by how weak it sounds.

“Long enough to know you need to listen to Steve. Sometimes he speaks sense.”

“Jesus, Natasha.” Steve scrubs his hand over his face with a muffled groan. “Get off my personal call or I’ll sprinkle the last of Wanda’s chilli powder in your knickers.”

“Promises, promises…” With a smirk and a wink Natasha’s face disappears from the screen.

“I’m gonna kill her,” Steve mutters, swiping his phone up and glaring at the screen.

“Leave it, Stevie. It doesn’t matter.”

“It kinda does… That woman has no concept of privacy.”

Bucky shrugs, a hint of a smile turning up the left corner of his mouth. “And you secretly love it. You’ve never taken to polite ladies, Stevie. I remember the stiffy you got telling me about the time Peggy shot at you in Howard’s lab.”

“What the fuck…” A red flush floods Steve’s face and he fumbles his phone, the image of his face dancing around for a few seconds before he regains his hold. “Jesus, Buck! I don’t think of Natasha in that way. She’s just a friend. Don’t you remember Sharon?”

Taking pity on his friend Bucky huffs out a laugh. “I’m just teasing. You’re an easy mark when it comes to the dames. Always have been.”

“Fuck you, Buck.” As he leaves his bedroom and walks down a poorly lit hallway Steve’s face grows serious once more. “Do you still love her… now you remember what you once had?”

After taking a moment to consider the question properly Bucky knows the answer. “I will always care about her, but I’m not in love with her anymore. We were different people back then. I know I’m not the same man and I’m betting Natalia is a different woman too. Our time has passed, Stevie. There’s no going back for me. Only forward.”

Steve takes this in with a nod of acceptance. “Ok. Gotta go now. Just remember to go easy on yourself. Take all the time you need. No-one will begrudge you that.”

“Yeah. Bye, Steve.” After disconnecting the call Bucky inhales a deep breath of the clean air and lets it out in a whoosh. He feels lighter now, some of his frustration and self-loathing leaving him on the noisy exhale. _Thanks, Stevie. I owe you one._

The communication bead chimes on his wrist. A text alert. From an unknown number. Quirking a brow he opens the message and a smile curves his lips as he reads.

**I care about you, but I’ve got absolutely no desire to bed you, James. That ship has well and truly sailed. Please don’t make shit weirder than it already is. It’s bad enough Steve’s giving me sad eyes right now. Jesus… the man must have been a Labrador retriever in a former life. I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy.**

He quickly dictates a reply.

**You have two options. Give him a hug or smack him upside the head and tell him you don’t do puppies on missions. I vote for the second one. I wanna see the bruises.**

Natalia’s reply is swift. It’s a photo of the back of Steve’s head with Natalia smiling over his shoulder at her phone as she hugs him.

**You’ve gone soft, Talia.**

**Shut up. It’s Steve’s fault. I don’t do animal cruelty.**

 


	9. Chapter 9

This is not a chapter, just an apology. I'm currently recovering from heart surgery and, consequently, this work will not be updated any time soon. Rest assured that I will complete it eventually as I know exactly how it ends. Unfortunately, I only had half of the next chapter written before my heart decided to screw with me. Once again, I apologise, but I will be back writing as soon as I'm well.

Thank you for sticking with this story and enjoying it as you have. I appreciate every comment and kudos you have given me. I'll be back. 


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